








Class 

Book riL 

Copyright N°_ 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 


THE 

WOODRANGER 

TALES 

BY 

G. WALDO BROWNE 

THE WOODRANGER 
THE YOUNG GUNBEARER 
THE HERO OF THE HILLS 
WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 

rb 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 

New England Building 
BOSTON, . . . MASS. 










► 





















“ ‘ STEER FOR THAT ROCK SHELF A LITTLE TO YOUR 

RIGHT.’ ” ( See page Sj) 


WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 


BY 

G. WALDO BROWNE 

AUTHOR OF 

“THE WOODRANGER,” “THE YOUNG GUN- 
BEARER,” “THE HERO OF THE 
HILLS,” ETC. 


JHfastratrtJ frg 
L. J. BRIDGMAN 




BOSTON 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
1906 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Conies 

Received 

WAY 7 

1906 

* C'.o.v ri, : i.i 

Entry 

'9 cl 

XXc. No. 


'b, 



\ 


Copyright , igo6 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

All rights reserved 


First Impression, April, 1906 



COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H . Simonds Co. 
Boston , U. S. A, 


TO 

MY YOUNG FRIEND 


p^arolti IHfctoartJ JFtfe 

THIS TALE “WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 
IS SINCERELY INSCRIBED 




FOREWORD 


The war between the English colonists in New 
England and New York and the French of New 
France, now Canada, with their allies, the Indians, 
forms a period of momentous interest in the early 
history of our country. It really meant more than 
the conquest of the native warriors of the Ameri- 
can wilderness, for it was the settlement of a quar- 
rel of long standing between the powers in Europe. 
Had the French been successful here, England 
would have lost her hold on this continent. That 
she did not succeed was due more to the hardy 
band of woodrangers commanded by Rogers and 
the Starks than to the regular soldiery furnished 
by the mother country. 

By virtue of discovery, the English claimed all 
of the territory upon the Atlantic coast from Aca- 
dia to Florida; and, through vesture of certain 
grants from the British Crown, all of the region 
westward to the Pacific Ocean. Their settlements 
consisted mainly of an irregular chain of towns 
along the eastern seacoast, numbering about a mil- 
lion and a half of people. 

vii 


FOREWORD 


viii 

The French, on the other hand, claimed by ex- 
ploration and occupation all of the valley of the 
St. Lawrence from the gulf by that name to an 
indefinite West, and northward to an equally uncer- 
tain boundary. They claimed the State of Maine 
in New England, New York State, the region about 
the Great Lakes, and the valleys of the Ohio and 
the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico. They num- 
bered barely one hundred thousand inhabitants. 

To maintain her claims, France had erected a 
cordon of fortified outposts and armed missions 
extending across the unmapped country from its 
two extremes. The most noteworthy of these forti- 
fications were Louisburg upon the Island of Cape 
Breton, Quebec, Three Rivers, and Montreal upon 
the St. Lawrence, Crown Point and Ticonderoga 
at the head of Lake Champlain, Fort Frontenac at 
the outlet of Lake Ontario, Niagara at its head, 
and Detroit midway between Lakes Huron and 
Erie, the key to the West. 

Roaming among the French on the north and 
the English on the south were the fragmentary 
bands of Amerindians, shadows of the dusky people 
that once held domain over this broad country. 
These naturally did not unitedly espouse either side 
of these invading enemies. The Iroquois, in New 
York, for the most part, lent their aid to the Eng- 
lish, while their bitter rivals, the Hurons and Al- 


FOREWORD 


IX 


gonquins, quite as stoutly joined the French. In 
New England the English found now and then some 
son of the scattered tribes that linked his fortune 
with them. A marked example of this kind was 
the case of Philip, the Sokokis chief, whose father, 
Paugus the Oak, had been an intense hater of the 
whites. But Philip had been too young at the time 
of the overthrow of his father to receive any of 
his teachings. The Sokokis did not take kindly to 
the ways of the French missionaries. 

War with the American Indians contained an 
element of far greater romance than modern war- 
fare possibly could. The pages of American his- 
tory do not show a company of troops more famous 
than “ Rogers’ Rangers.” Their life was one of 
constant exposure, and their story reminds one of 
the days of romance, while the account of their daily 
hardships and perilous wanderings, their strange 
adventures and hairbreadth escapes, would be as 
thrilling and wild as a German legend. 

One of the historians of the region where they 
acted their important part, and often were the for- 
lorn hope of the British regulars, has most aptly 
and eloquently written : 

“ There is hardly a spot, either on land or water, 
that has not been the scene of some warlike exploit 
or heroic adventure. This region, forming in colo- 
nial times a part of the great highway between 


X 


FOREWORD 


Canada and New York, was often the chosen battle- 
ground of the French and English, who, in con- 
nection with hostile Indian tribes, waged a bar- 
barous war on each other. Often was the lake 
traversed by the soldier, the savage, and the monk. 
Hither came the brave Montcalm, the pious Father 
Joques, the good Roubaud, Rigaud, St. Ours, and 
Courcelles, together with Abercrombie, Howe, Lord 
Amherst, Putnam, Rogers the Ranger, Johnson, 
Williams, ‘ King Hendrik,’ Stark, and a multitude 
of others who are invested with historic renown. 
The story of their deeds contains all of the elements 
of romance.” G. Waldo Browne. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Tree of the Dead . . . . n 

II. The Scouts’ Tryst 22 

III. A Fright and a Surprise . . . 37 

IV. Indian Plume 48 

V. The Mystery of the Canoe ... 59 

VI. Warning of the Coming Battle . . 69 

VII. The Home of Indian Plume ... 79 

VIII. Voices of the Night .... 88 

IX. Twice - told Tales 96 

X. An Hour of Peril 105 

XI. The Call of the Bugle . . . -113 

XII. An Exciting Race 122 

XIII. The Sergeant Saves Ben — Scenes at 

the Camp 136 

XIV. The Ambuscades 146 

XV. “The Bloody Morning Scout” . *153 

XVI. The Danger -line 160 

XVII. The Woodranger’s Last Stand . .170 

XVIII. Ben and the Sergeant .... 183 

XIX. The Scouts of the Horican . . .191 

XX. Indian Plume’s Vigil 199 

XXI. The Rescue 208 

XXII. The Bugle Note 218 

XXIII. A Tremendous Journey .... 227 
XXIV. A Lost Battle 242 


XI 


XU 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXV. The Retreat 253 

XXVI. Reunited Lives 262 

XXVII. The Woodranger’s “Cross” — Bits of 

Biography 278 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ ‘ Steer for that rock shelf a little to your 

right ’ ” (See page 83) . . . . Frcnitispiece 

“ Fell upon his knees and begged for his life” 149 
“‘Spare him! he is my friend!’” . . .194 

“‘Your last,’ said the Woodranger, ‘unless ol’ 

Danger has lost his gift o’ war ’ ” . . 248 


WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 


CHAPTER I. 

THE TREE OF THE DEAD 

Had the Old Man of the Mountains, 1 upon that 
particular August afternoon, in the year of our Lord 
1754, been the possessor of one of the watches of 
the old style English make then found among the 
colonists of New England, its hands would have 
pointed exactly to the hour of four, as a little party 
of scouts silently threaded the dim aisle of the 
primeval forest of that region. That the four mov- 
ing single file, after the manner of some dusky sons 
of the war-trail, were adepts in this form of wood- 
craft was shown by the fact that they left behind 
them no greater evidence of their progress than was 
to be seen in the pathless trail ahead. Nor was this 

1 A rugged height in the heart of the Franconia group of the 
White Mountains whose serrated crest presents so accurately the 
features of the human countenance that it is known as “ Profile 
Mountain.” — Author. 


12 


WITH ROGERS ’ RANGERS 


any cause for wonder when it is told that every 
member of the party had passed his entire life upon 
the frontier of northern New England, which for 
more than fifty years had been the scene of border 
warfare, often in its most bitter form. 

The leader of the party was a young man of 
twenty-six years, who possessed a sturdy figure. 
He was six feet in his moccasins, with not a pound 
of surplus flesh, but built up of bone, muscle, and 
sinew made by almost constant service in scouting, 
hunting, and roaming that wilderness whose secrets 
he had mastered as a boy. Not only had he grap- 
pled with the bear and stalked the panther in its 
lair, but he had also wrestled with Kankamus, the 
Indian “ lion of the north,” won a foot-race in a 
trial with Nolka, the lightfoot of the Ameriscog- 
gins, and fought hand to hand in a death-struggle 
with Wivurna, the “ oak of the St. Francis; ” so his 
prowess was as well known among the Indian tribes 
as among his countrymen. 

From time to time, being upon friendly terms 
with many of the red men, he had hunted and fished 
with them and followed the war-trail of the enemy, 
until he had become as proficient in the arts and 
artifices of forest warfare as even their most cun- 
ning warrior. Thus he had become their most 
dreaded foe and most highly admired friend. His 
name was Robert Rogers. 


THE TREE OF THE DEAD 


13 


Next to him went a young man one year his 
senior, and every way worthy to be his companion. 
While Rogers was slightly over six feet in height, 
he was a little under that figure, and a few pounds 
lighter in weight. If he lacked a little in strength, 
he made this up in alertness of action and quick- 
ness of perception. With a profusion of dark brown 
hair inclined to curl, deep blue eyes which at times, 
when his passionate nature awakened to its possi- 
bilities, became almost black, an aquiline nose, thin, 
arching lips that denoted a sensitive temperament, 
rosy cheeks, and clean-shaven face, his was a hand- 
some countenance. 

He, too, had seen his share of life in camp and 
on the trail, and had become a keen student of na- 
ture thoroughly versed in forest lore. His name 
was William Stark, and he was a son of Archibald 
Stark, “ Old Archie ” of one of the lower settle- 
ments known as “ Amoskeag Falls.” This family 
was a noted one in the early history of northern 
New England. 

. Close upon the heels of William Stark followed 
the third member of this party, and, if he walked 
upon four feet, he was not a whit less worthy of 
mention. He was a large, keen-scented, swift- 
footed wolf-dog, whose fine appearance and good 
qualities were aptly expressed in his name, “ Ser- 
geant Beau de Bien,” “ the handsome and honest 


14 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


sergeant. ,, His proper name, it will be observed, 
was French, which was accounted for by the fact 
that young Stark, while upon a hunting trip into 
the north, had found him in the ownership of a 
French officer, who was beating him severely for 
some fancied shortcoming. Stark’s impetuous love 
for all abused creatures was instantly aroused, and 
he interfered in the poor dog’s behalf. The result 
was a fiery resentment on the part of the officer, 
followed by a duel, in which Stark was victor. 
In appreciation for this timely friendship, the dog 
gladly accompanied his new-found defender; and, 
from that day to his death, he was the one faith- 
ful follower who never betrayed his master or 
weakened in his love for him. His name was short- 
ened by the English into Beaubien, while he was 
most generally known as “ The Sergeant.” 

. Last but not least in those qualities which made 
of the members of this little party three of the best 
and most successful scouts and Indian fighters of 
that trying period of frontier warfare was John 
Stark, a brother of William, and two years his 
junior. It was he who in later years became the 
hero of Bennington. Upon the eve of battle, with 
the British forces in sight, he turned to his brave 
followers, exclaiming: 

“We must whip the redcoats to-day, or Mollie 
Stark sleeps a widow to-night.” He was of medium 


THE TREE OR THE DEAD i$ 

height, with a well-knit frame which had been sea- 
soned and toughened, as his companions had been, 
by many trying experiences both on the hunt of 
wild beasts and the equally exciting war-trail of an 
enemy that never seemed to sleep. 

All three were dressed in the favourite suit of 
the woodsman of that day, — small-clothes made 
of the coarse cloth spun at home and covered with 
buckskin leggings and hunting-shirt or sort of tunic, 
both garments frilled and ornamented in a fantastic 
manner with edgings of the same material and por- 
cupine quills. Their feet were encased in moccasins 
of Indian pattern, while their heads were protected 
with the oft-described coonskin caps of that day. 

Each scout, excepting, of course, the Sergeant, 
who was as much of a scout as any of them, was 
armed with one of the heavy muskets looked upon 
as man’s most trusty companion, though they were 
poor weapons of defence when compared to the 
rifles of the present time. About their rugged 
bodies were girthed strong belts from which were 
suspended stout, serviceable knives and hatchets. 
Over their shoulders were hung two sashes, cross- 
ing each other upon the back and breast, carrying 
bullet-pouches, powder-horns, wipers, and pickers 
for their firearms and steel for striking fire. 

In the midst of the silent advance of this quar- 
tette of scouts, Rogers paused to peer ahead through 


1 6 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

an opening in the forest, while his companions also 
came to a standstill, waiting patiently for their 
leader to explain the meaning of his abrupt halt. 

“ There is the pine just round that broken-topped 
maple,” said he, in a low tone. “ I can see the upper 
branches of the old tree plainly. I should know 
it among a thousand on account of its wide-spread- 
ing branches. Growing upon a slight elevation, it 
has overpowered others until it covers more terri- 
tory than pines usually do. It should have been 
an oak. The Woodranger marked the tree well as 
a landmark easily distinguished.” 

“ I hope the old man will be on hand promptly,” 
remarked William Stark. 

“When did you ever know him to fail?” 

“ Never. But there must be a last time, when 
he will fail. I think you said it had been a full 
year since you and he parted, to meet here to-day.” 

“ Yes, a full twelve months to an hour. We 
had been further north, upon the trail of an old 
bull moose which had run us hard for two days. 
We followed the old fellow more for sport than 
desire to capture him. I must say I admired his 
grit, if I do not our judgment. I went from here 
straight home, as the arrow flies, but I could not 
persuade the Woodranger to go with me. He 
seemed uncommonly nervous that day, and declared 
he must 4 perambulate ’ westward. After some 


THE TREE OF THE DEAD 


17 


coaxing on my part, he suggested that we meet here 
just one year from that hour. I gladly gave my 
consent, and so we parted. I have not seen or heard 
from him since.” 

“ If I am not mistaken, you said Philip, the son 
of Paugus, was to be here, too,” said John Stark. 

“ Yes, Philip was with the Woodranger and me, 
and he promised, as he started to go back to his 
people at the headwaters of the Connecticut, that 
he would come here at the same time. I have not 
seen him since that afternoon.” 

“ Philip will not forget his promise,” declared 
the younger Stark. “ I would trust Philip with my 
life, though he is an Indian, and a Sokokis at that.” 

Rogers made no reply to this. In fact, his atten- 
tion was suddenly taken up by the singular action 
of the Sergeant, who had begun to sniff the air 
in a mysterious manner, while he looked earnestly 
into the face of his master. 

“ Anything wrong, Sergeant ? ” 

The intelligent creature wagged his tail, though 
he did not cease to give utterance to faint moans, 
while he continued to keep his nose high in the air. 

“ That means something unusual,” said William 
Stark. “ There are reds prowling about, or I do 
not know a beaver from a wildcat. Be still, old 
boy, and we will solve the mystery in a trice.” 

Rogers now resumed his advance, followed by 


1 8 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

his companions with increased anxiety if not cau- 
tion, for the latter was hardly possible. The Ser- 
geant now glided ahead of the men, and quickly 
disappeared in the thick undergrowth ahead. Will- 
iam Stark was fain to wait for the return of the 
dog, but the more impetuous Rogers pushed his 
way swiftly, but silently, forward. 

In the course of a few minutes he again came to 
a standstill, and, parting the matted ground hemlock 
that blocked his path, he looked at short range upon 
the tree which had been selected as the meeting- 
place for himself and friends after a year’s separa- 
tion. His inaction was almost immediately fol- 
lowed by a low exclamation of surprise, which, was 
an unusual display of weakness for him. 

“ Look there, boys ! What does that mean ? ” 

The Stark brothers lost no time in obtaining a 
view of the scene thus opened to them, when both 
shrank back with feelings akin to horror. Sergeant 
had stopped directly under the low branches of the 
pines, and, resting upon his haunches, was gazing 
intently upward into the dark green foliage over- 
head. 

The sight which now held the gaze of the scouts 
was that of three human figures suspended, side 
by side, from one of the lower branches of the pine, 
which creaked and groaned ominously, as it swayed 
pendulum-like beneath the weight of its ghastly 


THE TREE OF THE DEAD 


19 


burden. Something of the hideousness of the scene 
was relieved by shrouds of birch bark and bear- 
skins bound carefully about the lifeless forms, but 
the effect was such as to produce feelings of painful 
emotions even to the scouts, as used as they had 
become to spectacles of savage life. 

“ Injuns ! ” exclaimed Rogers, sententiously. 

“ Cohas at that,” declared John Stark. 

“ Must be some of the red wretches Baker killed 
in his foray,” said William. 

“ Be that so or not, I hail it as a bad omen. The 
old pine has become the tree of the dead. Ha ! some 
one is coming.” 

Sergeant had suddenly become uneasy again, 
turning from the sight of the dead Indians hanging 
from the pine to look fixedly into the forest below 
them. The long firearm of Robert Rogers swiftly 
dropped into the hollow of his left arm, while the 
fingers of his right hand rested on the stock of 
the weapon over the trigger. His companions were 
as quick to place themselves upon the defensive as 
he, and thus the four watched and waited the ap- 
proach of some one whose footsteps had not yet 
fallen on their ears, and whose near presence had 
been foretold only by the keen sense of the faithful 
dog. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SCOUTS' TRYST 

The suspense experienced by the scouts was not 
of long duration, for there quickly stepped from 
the shadows of the growth into plain sight one 
whose appearance was to instantly change the as- 
pect of the entire attitude of the four silently wait- 
ing for him. 

The newcomer was a typical son of the forest, 
an Indian tall and straight as an arrow, with 
rounded head and prominent aquiline nose. The 
general outline of his features was triangular, the 
mouth was rather large and straight, the eyes very 
black, the brows scanty, the cheeks high, the neck 
long, the chest broad but not deep like that of a 
well-formed white man, while the body and limbs 
were uncommonly thick and muscular for one of his 
race. 

In the matter of dress, it was evident he had 
accepted in a marked degree the ideas of the Eng- 
lish, since he wore his garb girthed closely about 
his body instead of wearing it loosely, as his ances- 
tors had done when the national costume was made 


THE SCOUTS’ TRYST 


21 


of bearskin robes. His nether limbs were encased 
in pantaloons of tanned buckskin, whose yellow hue 
had become heightened in the process. Falling down 
over these from the shoulders he wore that gar- 
ment so common among the frontiersmen, known 
as the hunting-shirt, and which became this Roman 
of the wilderness with as striking effect as did the 
toga of some patrician noble of the Imperial City 
upon the banks of the Tiber. The seams of the 
garments were tied with narrow strips of deer thong 
instead of being sewed like those of the white scouts, 
seeming more appropriate and lending a certain 
picturesque result to the whole. Moccasins made 
by the skilful fingers of some dusky maid of his 
lodgment protected his feet. His head was uncov- 
ered, save for the mass of long, straight black hair 
and the solitary eagle feather which he wore as a 
memory of his fathers. 

He was instantly recognized by the three men, 
all of whom exclaimed in the same breath : 

“Philip!” 

“ Me come ! ” replied the Sokokis, tersely. 

The sharp gaze of the red man had already swept 
the circumscribed scene, and his eyes had rested 
upon the bodies swaying from the pine. But the 
sight did not hold his attention long, for, turning 
away with a simple, guttural “hough!” he asked 
of Rogers: 


22 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ Where Taconica? ” 

“ The Woodranger has not come yet,” replied 
the young scout. 

“ I am afraid that for once he will fail to keep 
his promise,” declared William Stark. 

“ It lacks a few minutes of the time he set,” re- 
plied Rogers. “ He said he would be here just as 
the shadow of that tall spruce fell upon the sharp 
rim of the cliff beyond.” 

His companions, even to Philip, distinguished the 
tree pointed out by him, and they saw that the shade 
lacked less than a hand’s span of reaching the des- 
ignated peak of rock. 

“ Well, it is mighty near the time,” said William 
Stark. “ I am getting anxious about him.” 

“ See ! ” exclaimed Rogers, in the midst of the 
earnest watch suddenly begun by them. “ The long 
arms of the spruce shade touch the pointed rock. 
The time is up when the Woodranger was to be 
here, and — ” 

“ Aweel, now’s me!” a voice broke upon the 
scene with a clearness and suddenness that caused 
the four men to wheel about with looks of surprise 
upon their sunburned features, “ in all an ol’ man’s 
perambulations, he’s ne’er seen critter, — an’ he’s 
not unmindful o’ the timid fawn that is fright- 
bound by the very danger it would fly from, — I 
say, I’ve ne’er seen critter so lost to discretion as ye, 


THE SCOUTS' TRYST 


23 


lads, a moment since, and with th’ brown-faces 
everywhere in ambushment for your scalp-locks. 
How long has it been since Rob Rogers and the 
sons o’ Stark have come to think with their eyes 
an’ blindfold their minds ? ” 

While for a moment the young scouts stand agape 
with pleasurable wonder, let me hastily give an 
outline sketch of this newcomer, whose picturesque 
personality certainly deserved the portrayal of an 
artist. He was standing at the moment his words 
had arrested the attention of his friends within a 
few feet of them, his tall, erect figure as stationary 
as the trunk of a young sapling, while he leaned 
slightly upon the muzzle of his old-fashioned flint- 
lock musket reaching nearly to his shoulder as its 
butt rested upon the ground. 

Counting life by its years, he was a little over 
fifty, but his abundant hair and beard, silvered with 
time’s frosts, and the furrows upon his rugged fea- 
tures, weather-stained but beaming with honest sim- 
plicity, made him appear older. His garb was that 
of a woodsman, a pair of tight-fitting buckskin pan- 
taloons, frilled up and down the seams, a hunting- 
frock of the colour of the green wood, fringed along 
the sleeves and around the bottom with yellow, and 
girthed closely about the waist by a wide belt, so 
the garment could not flutter as he moved through 
the forest. A cap made of the skin of the silver 


24 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


fox, shorn of its fur for summer wear, with the 
long tail hanging down his shoulders, covered his 
head. Upon his feet he wore a pair of Indian moc- 
casins, which were ornamented with porcupine 
quills. 

The handle of a serviceable knife appeared above 
the rim of the belt, while a heavy pistol beside it, 
with the battle-scarred gun already mentioned as 
used now for temporary staff, completed his arma- 
ment. A bullet-pouch and powder-horn, slung from 
his shoulders, with flint and tinder-box, picker and 
washer for his firearms, completed his accoutre- 
ments. 

The silence with which he had thus suddenly ap- 
peared before the young scouts, and the shrewdness 
of having approached from the leeward, so as to 
escape the scent of the watchful Sergeant, were in 
keeping with his entire manner. He had passed 
thirty or more years of life in the wild wood, during 
which time he had wandered from the east into the 
unexplored regions of the far north and into the 
remote west, disappearing and reappearing with 
remarkable safety. At one time known as “ Wis- 
cowan, the Wanderer/’ anon as “ Taconica, the 
Forester,” then as “ Gray Cliff, the Silent Foot,” or 
as “ Speaking Eye, the Dead Shot,” he was more 
frequently called “ Woodranger, the Father of 
Scouts.” 


THE SCOUTS' TRYST 2$ 

A faint smile rested lightly upon his bearded lips, 
as he looked with peculiar interest upon his sur- 
prised friends. Philip, the young chief, was the 
first to speak, calling him by the name the Indians 
loved best: 

“ Taconica, Philip very glad to see the Silent 
Foot. ,, 

Rogers and the Stark brothers exclaimed in 
unison : 

“ The Woodranger ! ” 

Then the four pressed forward to clasp, one by 
one, the hand of their long-missed companion. 

“ Ay, lads, it be well ’twere me when a handful 
o’ brown-faces might have caught ye like rabbits 
in their burrows while ye gaped at the shadows 
and made a wanton waste o’ discretion.’’ 

“ Forgive us, Woodranger,” implored Rogers, 
“ if we did forget our caution in our anxiety for 
you. We had begun to think you would not come.” 

“Not come, lad?” asked the forester, with an 
inflection in his voice which showed that he was 
slightly injured by the doubt. “ Do you expect the 
tree to blossom afore it buds? Did you expect me 
afore the finger o’ the sun had p’inted the hour? 
I was here, lads, though I tuckered three moons in 
the perambulation. But I forgive thee, lads, as I 
forgive the years that add to my weakness.” 

To those who may think this meeting of the three 


2 6 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


scouts in the wilderness with such complete accu- 
racy was an unreasonable feat, it is only justice to 
say such performances were not uncommon in the 
days of the pioneers. More especially were they 
often undertaken among the Indians, and the red 
man never failed to keep his tryst unless death had 
interfered with the plans of man. There was an 
unfailing accuracy and surety of purpose in his 
methods of life which caused him to look upon such 
accomplishments as matter-of-fact incidents. The 
English had proved apt pupils in the arts of which 
they were masters. 

“What cheer do you bring, Woodranger ? ” 
asked Rogers. “ And tell us where you have kept 
yourself the last twelve months.” 

“ As to the first, lad, which I count an open 
question, I do not previcate the truth when I say 
that the trail o’ the races is crossed and crisscrossed 
with signs I dare not read aloud. There is a storm 
in the air, lads, I swan I believe there is.” 

Robert Rogers, more than his companions, was 
impressed by these words of the Woodranger, and, 
grasping his arm, he demanded : 

“ Tell me what you have seen and heard, Wood- 
ranger.” 

“ It may not be much, lad ; in itself I can see that 
it’s little more than the whim o’ an old man, but 
the froth on the water shows the way o’ the current 


THE SCOUTS' TRYST 


27 


quicker than the block o' wood that dams and does 
not seek freedom. The Frinchers are arming in 
the west. Already they have seized the little Eng- 
lish habitation at the forks o’ the Ohio, and have 
begun fortifications there . 1 This, I opine, is their 
first step on the war-trail o’ conquest that shall make 
o’ New England, New France. It be a bold, wanton 
trail that winds where innocent lives have cabined, 
and I, without the knack o’ prophecy, can ne’er read 
sign to the end o’ the beginning.” 

“ Our success must depend largely on the help 
we get from the old country,” declared William 
Stark. 

“ Mighty little we shall get there,” said Robert 
Rogers, decidedly. “ At any rate, of the kind we 
shall need in beating the bush of the red vultures.” 

" Aweel, lad,” said the Woodranger, “ the reds 
be playthings in the hands o’ the Frinch. Nor are 
the British o’erkind to us. A convention has been 
called at Albany to trail a plan to unite the colonists 
in the war with France; but ’twill fall short o’ 
its purpose, mark my words. There be too little 
interest in the mother country for her children, and 
too little o’ the thought that brings ’em together. 
Like rivers that grow and strengthen by bringing 
their waters together, so must man find his par- 

1 Fort Du Quesne, where the city of Pittsburg, Pa., now stands. 
— Author. 


28 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


fecting element in union and harmony. Ay, as Rob 
has said, I opine it’s little help we’ll get from the 
old country, and that not o’ a helpful sort.” 

“ Right, as usual, Woodranger. It therefore be- 
hoves us to organize and arm ourselves,” declared 
Rogers, in his vehement and decisive manner, like 
one who was born to command. “We must truly 
depend on our own efforts, or we will become a part 
of New France as sure as yonder sun is sinking 
into the west.” 

“ Ay, lad, now’s me, you trail a thought that 
runs as straight as a mark on a frosty morn. The 
colonists in Northern New England must arm and 
be led to the scrimmage. An’ you are the one to 
be the p’inting finger, and the voice as well. If 
I do say it, and, mind you, I lay no claim to undue 
knack in unravelling the skein o’ human conceit, 
you have shown uncommon cunning in picking up 
the ways and means o’ the brown-faced warriors 
on whom the Frinch are depending so much.” 

“ Not I, Woodranger, but you. It has been you 
who have taught me the little woodcraft I have 
gained. It is true I have picked up a passable 
knowledge of the Indian tongue, and can talk so 
a Frenchman will understand me. But there is no 
person in my range of observation, and I have been 
in about every corner of New England and New 
France, who is so well versed in forest lore, and — ” 


THE SCOUTS' TRYST 


29 


“ Tut, tut, lad! Now you show a vain weakness, 
such as does not belong by natur’, and natur’ is 
man’s better part, to a Rogers. I say this without 
dissembling, for no man has a better proof o’ the 
sign than I, who has trailed with you from a boy, 
and who perambulated with your father in the red 
days o’ Lovewell. It may have been for me to 
touch elbows with you in some o’ the mysteries that 
abound in the hidden haunts o’ the wildwood, but, 
if you have unravelled a knot in the skein from 
any word or sign I may have dropped, it was only 
the giving o’ a father to his child. I can make no 
boast o’ it. An oY man’s counsel may be well when 
the powder be dry, lad, but, if there be damp in 
the combustible, there be need o’ the fire o’ youth 
to set the grain a-ripening. The English powder 
be wet, lad, and the follies o’ man hang like fog 
over it. The end no man can read, lest he be varsed 
in deeper than book l’arning, which I am free 
to own is a lost craft to me. It be a crucial day, 
lads, I swan I believe it, I do.” 

His companions listened with respectful silence 
to this genius of the solitude, the one person who 
had been, in truth, the tutor of Robert Rogers 
and his friends in the arts of woodcraft longer than 
they could remember, until he finished his modest 
speech. When he had finished, Rogers asked : 


30 


WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 


“ Do you think the Hurons are solid with the 
French, Woodranger ? ” 

“ As solid as a red wall may be built, lad, and 
the Hurons be bad Injuns, for they fight with a 
wanton waste o’ discretion and fairness. But the 
sky may be clearer in the east. You know I have 
been perambulating for a goodish time about the 
great waters. ,, 

“ The sky is no clearer in the east, Woodranger, 
than you have shown it to be in the west. Within 
a month rumour has come to the lower settlements 
that the French have dared to raise a fort within 
our own province, and we are now under the com- 
mand of Captain Powers, who, with his men, is 
awaiting us in the valley below here, to go to the 
intervales of Coos to see if report has lied or not. 
Only a short time ago, Captain Baker, while upon 
a trip of exploration into this region, ran across 
a party of Indians scouting under French orders, 
and carrying the torch of desolation to the homes 
of New England. These red devils hanging here 
on the death tree speak in no unmistakable manner 
of Captain Baker’s work. 

“ It means the slavery or the freedom of the 
New England colonists. If we allow the French 
to gain a foothold within our borders, we are crip- 
pled, and will soon be made helpless. I, for one, 
would fain bid them defiance, even if that means 


THE SCOUTS' TRYST 


31 


another war. In fact, we cannot hope for peace 
from the red men so long as the French are allowed 
to set them upon us like so many dogs. But when 
the war comes, as it is sure to come, mark my words, 
it will be the men of the Merrimack Valley who 
will have to bear the brunt of. the battle. But let 
it come, the sooner the better for me ! ” 

The somewhat fiery young Rogers had barely 
finished his impassioned speech, when William Stark 
exclaimed : 

“ Good for you, Rob ! ” extending his right hand 
as he spoke, “ and here is one who will be with you.” 

The Sergeant looked up with apparent approval, 
wagging his tail furiously. 

“ I am with you, too, Robert,” said the less im- 
pulsive John Stark, though there was an equal deter- 
mination in what he said. 

The four white men now looked with one accord 
upon the dusky features of their friend Philip, the 
last of the Sokokis chiefs, and the youngest son of 
one of the most implacable enemies the colonists 
of New England had known all through their hun- 
dred years of Indian warfare. He was Paugus, 
slain by Loveweirs band in 1725, after the most 
desperate battle fought during all of that long and 
sanguinary war. Philip had been barely a year old 
at that time, when his father fell, and the few sur- 
vivors of his tribes sought safety in hunting-grounds 


3 * 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


to the north. Notwithstanding the traditions of his 
people, and all that they had suffered at the hands 
of the English, the young chief, upon reaching 
manhood, had scorned the overtures of the French 
and been friendly to the English. He now looked 
his companions squarely in the face, while he replied 
in his graphic language: 

“ Philip is too much of a warrior not to know 
his duty; too brave not to know his friends.” 

If this speech might suggest a boastful tone, there 
was nothing in the manner of the speaker to denote 
it. Rather there was a depth of sincerity and a 
directness of intention which pleased his compan- 
ions, who voiced the sentiments of Rogers as he 
quickly declared : 

“ Good for you, Philip. I had no doubt of your 
faithful purpose, and I know we shall have no truer 
or braver ally than you.” 

Then, referring for the first time to the tree since 
the appearance of the forester, he continued: 

“ What do you think of that sign, Woodr anger? 
I see that one of the dead men was old Hatchet- 
Face, with whom I once had a tilt.” 

“ I was minding that, lad, I swan I was. We 
can afford to let last year’s leaf hang to the parent 
stem until the new shall blow. He did his work 
according to his gifts. To me there hangs over 
that tree the wraith o’ distorted dreams, but they 


THE SCOUTS ’ TRYST 


33 


may be no more than the fears o’ an ol’ man in 
his weakness, seeing sights that never were, and 
hearing sounds that were never trumpeted. But 
the brown-faces are surely on the war-trail. Their 
hatchets be sharpened; their bullets be run; their 
eyes be trained for second sight. Aweel, second 
sight it will be to many, and Mamelons ! 1 Now, 
lads, I’d fain know if there be any change at the 
settlement by broken waters.” 2 

“ You are going with us to see for yourself, 
Woodranger ? ” asked Rogers, by way of reply. 

“ Nay, lad, that may not be. There be many 
footprints to pick up, many crossings o’ the trail 
to be unravelled, many a fallen leaf to be read, as 
you’d read the signs in your book, where the ol’ 
man w’d fain perambulate. He may, and mind you, 
I say this without boasting, it may be he will stum- 
ble upon sign that shall let the light in upon this 
amazement o’ war.” 

“ But we want you with us, Woodranger,” de- 
clared the young scouts, as with one voice. 

“ That tickles an ol’ man’s vanity, lads, I swan 
it does, and an ol’ man’s conceit, like memory, 
grows vainer with the years. Aweel, now’s me, 
I will be with you as long as these ol’ feet may carry 

1 “ The place of the dead.” — Author. 

2 Now known as Amoskeag Falls, about whose water-power has 
since grown up the manufacturing city of Manchester, N. H. — 
Author. 


34 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


the burden imposed upon ’em. You’ve ne’er un- 
ravelled a knot in the skein consarning ’em who 
consort at the Falls, Mistress Stark and Old Archie, 
Cap’n Goffe, Archie McGamble, Squire Blanchard, 
and — and — and the lass, lads, the fairest flower 
in the flock. What of her ? ” 

There was an uncommon eagerness in his tone, 
an anxious look in his eye, the others did not fail 
to notice, though Robert Rogers gave no indication 
of this in his reply : 

“ You mean Rilma MacDonald, Woodranger? 
Then you have not heard that she has gone into 
a home of her own ? She and Archie Perham were 
married last Christmas, and they are living at 
Cohas Falls, contented and happy, I hear.” 

The rugged countenance of the forester instantly 
lighted, very much as a bit of sodded earth is sud- 
denly freed of its shadows by the breaking of the 
sunbeams upon it. Then he exclaimed, in a voice 
vibrating and trembling with long-suppressed emo- 
tions : 

“ Sich tidings fall like moonbeams upon the dew- 
laden leaf that has been frost-bitten, I swan they 
do, lad. So the lass has found her mate, — some 
one to help bear the cross o’ life, — joy with her 
in her laughter, join with her in her tears? Aweel, 
it be a goodish bit o’ a story, lad, and it sets the 
clockwork o’ this body humming. There be no 


THE SCOUTS ’ TRYST 


35 


need now for me to perambulate o’er the ol’ trail; 
nay, there be nothing to worrit the ol’ man as he 
toilers the setting sun, no looking back to read the 
sign. It be well — well, the web that should have 
been woven — the thread that should have been 
spun. It is natur’, and natur’ makes no mistakes. 
Say to the lass, Rob, if she should drop a hint o’ 
him, that you see the ol’ man ; that he had yet the 
oak in his limbs, the spark o’ humanity in his heart 
undimmed. I swan, come to think on’t, for a man 
o’ his years, — and I hope the Lord won’t think 
it’s vanity, — I — I mean, he ne’er has felt so 
rugged for twenty year, not since that morn in 
Glen Cory, when they tol’ him — by the shivered 
horn o’ the buck! where is this ol’ tongue running 
now that it babbles like a brook that has broken 
its dam ? S’prising how much foolishness one gets 
with strength. I s’pose one comes to balance t’other, 
jess as wisdom comes to help one out in their weak- 
ness. Say to the lass, lad, say to her, the ol’ man 
looked peart and rugged for a man o’ his years 
and cross; uncommon light o’ spirit, if you may; 
but say no more — no more.” 

With these words the Woodranger turned away, 
as if he would leave his companions without further 
conversation, but Robert Rogers called him back. 

“ If you will not return home with us, Wood- 
ranger, you will at least go with us upon this ex- 


36 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


pedition north? It will not take you from your 
course.’" 

“ Forgive the oY man if he showed uncommon 
weakness. The storm will leave the tree it has been 
threshing weak, especially if that storm has been 
overlong. Ay, I should part with a sore heart did 
not I keep with you on this trail.” 

So Captain Powers’s party was strengthened by 
the presence of the old scout. But the expedition 
availed nothing, except to prove that the enemy 
had not ventured into their country as yet. Still, 
there was an arming of forces already going on; 
new leaders of the French soldiery and their dusky 
allies coming to the front; so when next we meet 
our scouts, they are brought face to face with a foe 
that threatened their desolation. 


CHAPTER III. 


A FRIGHT AND A SURPRISE 

It is in harmony with the purpose of life that 
the actors upon each stage of human progress should 
think that they were living during a period fraught 
with wonderful and rapid action in the development 
of affairs. So we of to-day think that there was 
never a period so filled with swift-moving events 
of vital importance to the welfare of the race. Had 
we lived in the days of our forefathers this would 
have been the same, for they felt deeply the earnest- 
ness and far-reaching purpose of their lives. This 
is the fuel that feeds the fires of patriotism. 

Those who figure in this plain story of mine were 
certain that momentous events were shaping them- 
selves under the touch of master hands into forms 
of danger or of safety. Swift-footed couriers were 
continually passing from place to place, carrying 
tidings of good cheer or of forebodings. And 
while the war-cloud gathered and darkened, lifting 
slowly above the horizon, the members of the little 
party of scouts, with the exception of the Wood- 
ranger, who had not been seen or heard of for 
37 


38 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


months, rallied their friends to combine against an 
enemy that threatened not only their liberty but their 
homes. Robert Rogers was the master spirit in 
this effort, and so well did he succeed that before 
another spring he had mustered about him a hun- 
dred kindred spirits ready to march to the scenes 
of war. 

Fearing still a descent of the allied forces down 
the Connecticut Valley, the Governor of the Prov- 
ince of New Hampshire ordered Captain Rogers, 
as he had become known, to go with his men to 
Coos Valley and construct a fort. But Rogers’ 
Rangers had barely started upon this expedition 
before the news spread over New England that 
the French were premeditating an attack upon the 
country along the old Indian war-trail between 
the valleys of the Hudson and the St. Lawrence 
Rivers, known as “ the Grand Pass.” This fol- 
lowed the Richelieu River up to Lake Champlain, 
and thence by that body of water to the “ Nar- 
rows ” at its head, and by the portage to the “ River 
of the Mohawks,” the Hudson. The British force 
under General Johnson was preparing to defend 
this war-trail, and word was sent for the New 
England men to join in the work. The hasty order 
to Rogers was carried to him in his Northern fast- 
ness by a youth named Benjamin Browne, who 
then joined Captain Rogers in a memorable march 


A FRIGHT AND A SURPRISE 39 

through the wilderness of what is now the State 
of Vermont to a rendezvous at the lower end of 
what was then known as “ the carrying-place ” 
between the Hudson River and Lake Champlain. 
This was a little less than fifty miles above Albany, 
New York, and was known as Fort Lyman, later 
as Fort Edward. 

General Johnson was in command of the English 
army, and he immediately sent for Captain Rogers 
to learn what he could of the enemies from the 
direction he had come. The result of this con- 
ference was an order for the Ranger chief to start 
upon a scout up the Hudson, while a smaller party 
was to make a similar trip to the French posts 
already springing up at the head of Lake Cham- 
plain. 

The last squad was under the command of Lieu- 
tenant William Stark, who was accompanied by 
Benjamin Browne, a young man named Elijah 
Bitlock, and last, but not least in effective service, 
though not of the regular enrolment, the Wood- 
ranger and Sergeant Beau de Bien. The forester 
had joined the Rangers while they had been on 
their way to the scene of war, and his appearance 
had been hailed with joy by his friends. 

So, near the close of the afternoon of the 7th 
of September, 1755, we find this little party of 
scouts moving with extreme caution along the nar- 


40 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


row ravine running northward from a waterfall 
whose music was still ringing in their ears, but 
growing fainter and sweeter as they advanced. 
Low but rugged mountain ranges walled in the 
lonely, picturesque pathway, while in the near dis- 
tance rose an eminence of greater height, which 
had been already designated “ French Mountain.” 

In silence the little party moved along the path- 
way which has since become such an historic road, 
and where they were to act so important a part. 
Impressed, as they progressed, with the deep solem- 
nity of the scene where man had not yet left the 
imprint of his hand, they noted that the mountains 
continued to draw nearer together, as if they, too, 
felt their loneliness. 

“ Aweel, lads,” remarked the Woodranger, in 
his measured, sincere tone, “ it may be only an oY 
man’s weakness, but I can feel the arms o’ the 
Creator drawing around me. There be a grand- 
ness in the valleys, I am mindful, — a fitness to 
human life, which binds us with its own blindness, 
— but the mountains are the eyes o’ the wilder- 
ness. 

“ Now from yon bald mountain, which I opine 
would call for some tall climbing, one might look 
down upon the trailing o’ water which has given 
the plumed pagans nature’s passway into her fairy- 
land. In the west rise, like the backs of an army 


A FRIGHT AND A SURPRISE 


41 


of porcupines, the mountains o’ the Five Nations 
o’ dusky warriors. On the east, trending away 
to the north, loom the lazy hills o’ the Horicans, 
who once held dominion here. But they had to 
give way to the Mohawks, as the Mohawks must 
in turn give way to the English.” 1 

Both William Stark and Benjamin Browne 
showed that they were deeply impressed by the 
simple words of the forester, but the young man 
named Bitlock was not of a nature to be influenced 
by serious thoughts. Seeing at that moment a 
big boulder 2 which rested a little removed from 
the path they were following, he started toward 
it, exclaiming: 

“ B’gosh ! there’s a chance to see sumthin’, and 


1 The Woodranger here refers to Black Mountain, beyond doubt, 
though this barren-topped height was several miles away. The 
waterway designated was composed of Lakes George and Cham- 
plain, while the Hudson could be seen in the distance. The 
mountains in the west were the Adirondacks, while those upon 
the other hand were the Green Mountains. There is ample proof 
to show that the first European explorers found a race of people 
called by other tribes as “ the Horicans,” who inhabited this region, 
and who suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from the scene as 
many another clan or tribe of Amerindians vanished from the hunting- 
grounds of their fathers during the eventful period of colonization 
by the white men. — Author. 

2 This was the same boulder Colonel Williams, it is claimed, was 
standing upon when he received his death-wound in the battle so 
soon to follow at this place, and it has since been made to become 
a monument to his memory, erected by the Alumni of Williams 
College. — Author. 


42 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


there wus never a Bitlock yet who did not know 
enough to take his opportunities by the top- 
knot.” 

With these words, Lige Bitlock made a desperate 
lunge for the rough surface of the rock in question, 
and, his long limbs threshing the air, he quickly 
ascended to the summit. Then, with a continued 
beating of the invisible forces about him, he man- 
aged with greater difficulty to rise upright upon 
his perch. 

“ B’gosh ! hyur’s where ye git yer long- 
winded — ” 

But the speaker never explained just what he 
had in mind, for at that moment, with a piercing 
cry of terror, he toppled to one side, and went 
crashing down the boulder into the thicket of bushes 
growing at its base. As Lige fell upon the side 
opposite to his companions, they lost sight of him 
for the time, though his outcries continued to awake 
the silence of the scene with frightful harshness. 

“ The fool will arouse every Indian and French- 
man within a league of us, if there is one about ! ” 
exclaimed Stark, darting around the rock to order 
the frightened youth to stop his outcries. The 
Woodranger and young Browne remained in the 
path, curious watchers of the misadventure. 

Lige had fallen nearly upon his back, and at full 
length, and when William Stark found him, he was 


A FRIGHT AND A SURPRISE 


43 


kicking the encircling bushes for all he was worth, 
and moaning and panting with pain and terror: 

“ Oh — oh — oh ! I’m sp’iled ! I’m sp’iled ! ” 

“ Quit your noise, Lige ! ” commanded Stark. 
“ Don’t you know we are in the enemy’s country, 
and that every cry like that is sure to tell them of 
our presence ? ” 

“ I can’t keep still, Mister Stark ! I’m a dead 
man — a dead man ! ” 

“ I never knew a dead man to do quite so much 
hollering,” replied Stark, smiling. “ But it has 
got to stop at once. Quit, you fool ! before I choke 
the wind out of you.” 

“ I — I can’t, Mister Stark ! I — boo — hoo ! 
I tell yer I’m a dead man ! I’ve — I’ve — ” 

“ What ? ” demanded Stark, with increasing 
earnestness. 

“I — I — I fell inter a nest of rattlers ! I’m 
bit an’ pizened all over ! ” 

“ Out upon you for a fool now. I have seen 
no rattler, and there aren’t any about the place 
now.” 

“ There wus. One crawled right out’n my 
jacket, an’ one wound right round my laig! He 
bited me, too, deep. How the blood runs down my 
ankle ! Oh, I’m a goner — a goner ! ” and he 
groaned and struggled like one in great agony. 
So serious, indeed, did his case seem to be that Stark 


44 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


became alarmed. While he had not seen any 
snakes, he was aware that one or more might have 
escaped before he had reached the place. Catching 
Lige by the shoulders, he dragged him quickly out 
into the path in order to get a better view of him. 

Of course the others had heard the commotion, 
and understood its meaning, and they now hastened 
to the side of the sufferer. 

“ Oh — oh ! this terrible war has been the end 
of me ! How that laig jumps and stings ! An’ it’s 
swelled to bu’st ! This is orful — orful ! ” 

Without speaking, the Woodranger stooped over, 
and quickly began to remove his pantaloons so he 
could examine the wound. Under his dextrous 
movements, this was the work of but a moment, 
when the bare flesh was exposed to the gaze of 
the anxious companions of Lige. 

“Is it a bad bite, Woodranger?” asked Stark. 

“ It’s cut like a knife clear to the bone, an’ sort 
of turned cater-corner — ” 

“ Stop your hollering like a loon that has been 
out all night ! ” said the Woodranger, with uncom- 
mon sternness for him, while he continued to ex- 
amine the limb. 

For the first time Lige Bitlock smothered his 
cries, but he trembled and shook like one with the 
ague, while he gasped: 

“ Has yit stopped bleed — ” 


A FRIGHT AND A SURPRISE 45 

“ It never has bled,” replied Stark, breaking in 
somewhat angrily. 

“ Not in the way we are apt to trail blood,” 
remarked the forester, giving at the same time a 
sharp pinch about the flesh, which brought forth 
a howl of pain from Bitlock. 

“ There 'pear to be two pin-marks about half 
an inch apart,” said the Woodranger, speaking in 
a low tone. “ I see no wound that a rattler 
might have made, and yet the rattler be cur’ous 
in some o' its ways, like the reds. It may be, and 
then it may be not again. I durst not previcate 
the truth, — this be an amazing bite for a rattler.” 

With these words, leaving Lige to continue his 
groaning and writhing, the Woodranger ap- 
proached the spot where he had fallen from the 
boulder. The bushes were trampled down, and at 
first he could find nothing to reward him for his 
search. If it had been a snake, it had swiftly dis- 
appeared. But, in the midst of his search, the scout 
heard a sharp, hissing noise issuing from the thicket 
close to the base of the rock. 

A low chuckle came from the Woodranger, and, 
with a quick, strong movement of his right hand, 
he suddenly seized upon an object which fluttered, 
sputtered, and tried furiously to break from his 
grasp. 

“ There be your rattler ! ” declared the captor, 


46 


With rOgers > rangers 


triumphantly, holding the struggling creature up 
at arm’s length. “ A purty bird, — a handsome 
quail, I swan, as e’er I trailed eyes on. She was 
ketched fast between two branches, like an ant 
between your fingers. But her bill was left free, 
and I opine she enjoyed that pinch o’ the young- 
ster’s leg. Stop your bawling, younker, long 
enough to see that your rattler wears a feather 
cloak, and has no more pizen in her bite than a 
babe has in its teeth.” 

William Stark began to laugh heartily, while 
Lige looked first upon the Woodranger, and then 
upon the captive bird, unable to understand the 
situation. Slowly it seemed to dawn upon him that 
he may have been mistaken, and he managed to 
exclaim : 

“ Did — did — did that creeture bite me ? ” 

“ That was the rattler, according to my way o’ 
reading the sign,” replied the Woodranger. 

“ Where did the snaiks go ? ” 

“ Into your moccasins, perhaps,” said William 
Stark, who was still laughing and enjoying the 
affair. 

With an ear-splitting yell, Lige leaped to his feet, 
and began to dance about like an Indian. Just 
what he would have done cannot be told, for at 
this juncture the Woodranger dropped the quail, 
which gladly flew away into the growth, and, seiz- 


A FRIGHT AND A SURPRISE 


47 


ing hold of Bitlock, commanded him to be silent. 
At the same moment the Sergeant uttered one of 
his low, warning growls, and, pricking up his ears, 
he stepped lightly in the direction of the woods upon 
their left. 

“ Injuns !” exclaimed Ben Browne, quickly 
throwing back the hammer of his queen’s arm 
musket , 1 when a motion from Stark caused him 
to desist from all movement. 

1 I have the battered and shattered remnant of this gun now in 
my possession, and though it is past its usefulness, I would not like 
to part with the old relic. — Author. 


CHAPTER IV. 


INDIAN PLUME 

In the midst of the Sergeant’s swift and silent 
advance, a voice, with womanly sharpness in it, 
rang out from the clustered undergrowth near at 
hand, saying: 

“ Call off your dog, or I will shoot him ! I come 
as a friend to the palefaces.” 

Sergeant heard and seemed to understand, for 
he instantly came to a standstill, pausing with one 
paw uplifted, while his dilated nostrils continued 
to scent the air. His eyes never left for a moment 
the space ahead, as light steps fell on the ears of 
the expectant group, until a bewildering, but beau- 
tiful, vision of womanhood burst upon their sight. 
With a low murmur, which seemed to speak of 
satisfaction mingled with an air of humiliation at 
the mistake he had made in looking for an enemy 
where apparently a friend had appeared, Sergeant 
retreated to the side of his master, where he became 
a silent, though interested, spectator of the scenes 
that followed. 

The younger members of the scouts, even to 
48 


INDIAN PLUME 


49 


Lige Bitlock, who had suddenly ceased his groan- 
ing and struggling and become as interested as his 
companions, at first could not realize that they 
were thus unexpectedly confronted with a person 
whom they had not the most remote idea could have 
been within sight or sound of them. The stranger, 
who had paused beside the pathway, stood gazing 
upon them in modest defiance. She carried a light- 
weight firearm of the clumsy pattern of that day, 
which now rested in the hollow of her left arm, 
while she looked with flashing eyes upon the sur- 
prised whites. 

This sprite of the wilderness could not have been 
twenty years of age, and, while too dark of skin 
to belong to the race of Europeans, she was not 
in feature a reproduction of the dusky people that 
inhabited these regions. Again, her garb was a 
compromise between the two races. A skirt of 
fawn's skin, light and durable, fell below her knees 
in graceful folds, ornamented with frills and tucks 
made of the same material. Below the bottom of 
this garment were to be seen leggings or pantalets 
of the same material, the seams frilled and deco- 
rated with clever imitations of the ivy vine and 
leaf, cut by the cunning hand of the maker. Her 
feet were encased in moccasins of skilful design 
in keeping with her picturesque attire. Her head 
was without a covering, except for the mass of 


50 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


dark hair which hung in a single braid down her 
shoulders. Fastened to this upon the top of the 
head was a bright red flower, which showed with 
uncommon distinctness against its dark setting. 

The Woodranger was the first to recover his 
presence of mind sufficiently to speak, his surprise 
was quickly overmastered, and he asked; 

“ Why comes here the maid who wears the 
Indian’s flower of sorrow ? ” 

“ Indian Plume might ask the same of the white 
brother,” said the other, with a soft, musical voice 
in which two tongues blended. “ She could hear 
them call a long way off, but they were cries out 
of reason as well as out of place.” 

“ Now you trail a true sign. ’Twas a wanton 
waste o’ discretion. But man’s wit flies out when 
fright flies in. Durst think the brown-faces are 
knocking about ? ” 

“ The Abnakis and their allies, the French, are 
just below here,” pointing along the path as she 
spoke. 

“ Aweel, I opined as much. The Indian Plume 
has some errant, some token of peace or of war 
that has brought her here,” declared the forester. 

She started at this direct question, but answered, 
quickly : 

“ Indian Plume has a purpose in seeking the 
palefaces. She was on her way to the lake to look 


INDIAN PLUME 


51 


after a canoe that has been afloat on the water 
for several hours. There seems to be some one in 
it. Palefaces go that way ? ” 

“ I cannot previcate the truth, Indian Plume,” 
replied the Woodranger, saying aside to his com- 
panions : 

“ I ne'er think it will be an indiscretion if we 
follow the lass for a leetle while, seeing it be a trail 
that winds with us.” 

“ You seem to know her, Woodranger,” said 
Stark. “ That, to me, is sufficient proof of her 
friendship.” 

“ Now you jump like a mad buck ag’in a stump. 
I’ve heerd a goodish bit o’ the lass, but this be the 
first time I e’er trailed sight on her. She be purty 
in her ways, but too dark for a white, and too light 
for a consort o’ the brown-faced pagans. I’ve heerd 
there be the blood o’ a Mohawk princess in her 
veins, and that o’ an English father. It is not for 
me, a man with a cross, to jedge. Her features 
read like an open book, not that I am quick to pick 
up the signs o’ the written page, and the neatness 
and fitness o’ her garb bespeaks a purity of mind. 
There can ne’er be purity where there is no neat- 
ness, and there is no vanity where there is fitness. 
As I read the sign, we can trust the lass, but it 
be not overwell to lean too much on an ol’ man’s 
jedgment, especially when it be a woman.” 


52 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


While the forester was expressing his opinion 
to his companions, Indian Plume was gazing stead- 
ily down the pathway, and twice she moved for- 
ward, as if impatient to be going. Without further 
parley, the scouts signified their willingness to go 
with her, Lige Bitlock having suddenly forgotten 
his recent experiences, while he said in a low tone 
to Ben Browne: 

“ B’gosh ! did ye ever see sich a purty gal ? I 
calculate ye air glad I hollered to her.” 

Indian Plume led the way with light, rapid steps, 
which even the Woodranger found difficult to equal, 
so nothing was said by the four as they moved 
through the forest, whose long, dark arms bended 
so low as to touch their heads at times. But all 
were on the alert for danger, the impulsive Stark 
more than half-believing that they were likely to 
be led into an ambushment of Indians at any mo- 
ment. The others, placing all their confidence in 
the forester, who appeared to have full confidence 
in their guide, merely maintained a careful watch, 
and looked curiously forward to the termination 
of the adventure. 

At last the Woodranger, who was next to the 
mysterious maid, discovered the glimmer of water 
through the foliage ahead, which led him to re- 
mark: 

“ Look yon, lads, if you would see the rim o’ 


INDIAN PLUME 


53 


the Horican. I hail it as a good sign that the sun 
be throwing its changing bars of gold and silver 
across its bosom. Aweel, now’s me, the sun can 
afford to give its best to this mirror o’ waters, for 
it gets the best back. The pictur’ o’ an Indian 
squaw would look bright reflected here.” 

It needed not the words of the Woodranger to 
inform William Stark that they were drawing near 
to the shore of Lake George, as it was christened 
by the English commander out of respect to his 
king, for he had been in this vicinity before. This 
was the first time Ben Browne or Lige Bitlock had 
ever seen this famous sheet of water, though the 
first, at least, had heard of it. 

As every schoolboy who loves his geography 
knows, Lake George lies at the head of the valley 
of the St. Lawrence River, a beautiful body of 
water about thirty-five miles in length and from 
three-fourths of a mile to four miles, and at one 
point eight miles, in width. It is, in fact, more like 
a river than a lake. It has a bed of white earth 
and gravel, now ground into a fine white sand of 
crystal purity. This fact, for one reason, caused 
the French to name it Lac St. Sacrament , a name 
highly in keeping with its natural beauty and purity. 
It had been known among the aborigines of this 
highly favoured country as Wandiataroctah , which 
in English meant “ Here the Lake Gate closes.” 


54 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


This is made plainer when it is known that these 
same original inhabitants, with that peculiar fitness 
for which they were noted in bestowing names, 
had designated Lake Champlain as Caniadegmran - 
tah, “ The Lake Gate of the Country.” The former 
was better known to the Woodranger and his class 
of forest rangers by the designation of “ the Lake 
of the Horicans,” though only a few days before 
the scenes I am describing, in a moment of vain- 
glory, the English commander had bestowed upon 
this beautiful sheet of water the patronymic of his 
king, who neither deserved the honour nor hon- 
oured the lake with his name. It will answer our 
purpose better to call it “ The Horican,” though 
this explanation may be necessary to avoid con- 
fusion. 

To one of the peculiar temperament of the Wood- 
ranger, more particularly perhaps than to his com- 
panions, the scene upon which his gaze now rested 
was such as to entrance him with its picturesque 
beauty. It is true there were no ruins overgrown 
with ivy to conceal their ugliness, or lordly castles 
commanding fear rather than feelings of admira- 
tion; ay, in all that sweep of the human vision, 
there was no sign of a dwelling — of man. 

In this place untamed nature held supreme sway. 
Hillsides and valleys shone resplendent in their 
evergreen vestments, and gems of waters reflected 


INDIAN PLUME 


55 


the fleckless azure of the sky and the burnished 
silver of the setting sun, while above these rose the 
mountain peaks, pillars more ancient and lasting 
than the towers of Babel, ornamented with crag- 
cornices carved from stones where eagles main- 
tained their lonely vigils long ere the fabled birds 
of Persia flew over the sacred plains of Mesopo- 
tamia in their quest for light and surcease from 
pain. 

The bearded lips of the scout moved and parted, 
as if he were about to speak, but they uttered 
no word of pleasure or of wonderment. This 
was partly due to the fact that his gaze, which 
had taken in the grand panorama at a single sweep, 
had now fallen upon an object afloat about midway 
upon the lake, as it was unfolded to his vision. 

Indian Plume was already pointing toward it, 
and Stark, his attention arrested by it, exclaimed: 

“ It is a canoe, though I cannot see that there 
is any one in it.” 

“ Aweel, now’s me,” declared the Woodranger, 
“ it sets too low in the water to be empty. I think 
it no wanton waste o’ jedgment to say there is 
some one in it.” 

“An Indian decoy,” said the cautious Stark. 

“ I was minding some sich trail, lad, I swan 
I was,” replied the forester. “ I durst ne’er dis- 
semble the truth o’ your discretionary idee, but 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


56 

it may be, like an oY man, I’ve grown fearful rather 
than prudent. I jedge, lass, you are varsed in 
the unwritten book o’ Indian l’arning; what say 
you o’ yon boat that rests like a duck without sense 
o’ light or darkness ? ” 

The maiden, thus directly addressed, replied 
quickly, as if she had been expecting the question: 

“ Indian Plume know the canoe has been on the 
water for one, two, three hours. It not always 
there, but it keep near the middle of the lake.” 

“ It is a craft o’ Mohawk make,” said the dis- 
cerning Woodranger. 

“ But it might have been stolen by one of the 
French allies,” declared Stark, knowing the doubt 
existing in his companion’s mind. 

“ If we only had a boat we might go out and 
see,” said Ben Browne. 

“ And get shot for your trouble,” replied Stark. 

“ I do not see that we have the boat with which 
to commit the indiscretion,” remarked the Wood- 
ranger, with a low chuckle. 

“ But we have one with us worth a dozen boats, 
and who will act with double the caution we could. 
Let the Sergeant go out and investigate.” 

The suggestion was so good that the others did 
not object, while the intelligent dog pricked up his 
ears, as if he had already understood what was 
wanted of him. 


INDIAN PLUME 


5 1 


“ Ay, the dog has shown a marked cunning, and 
it may be, mind you I say this without the craft o’ 
a prophet, he will act with discretion. While he 
is on his errant, we can keep a watchful eye.” 

Having gained the Woodranger’s consent to 
carry out his plan, Stark immediately prepared to 
instruct the Sergeant in regard to his duty. This 
he did just as he would have told Ben to have 
undertaken the same hazardous trip. 

“ Keep your eye open, Sergeant, and see that 
you are not caught off your guard. If the canoe 
is empty or not, and you can, tow it ashore. Don’t 
fear but we will keep a sharp watch on your work, 
old boy, for I love you too well to send you into 
needless danger.” 

The Sergeant’s eye had not left the face of his 
master while the latter was giving him his instruc- 
tions. When this was completed, the intelligent 
animal, wagging his tail approvingly, rose on his 
hind feet and licked with his tongue the chin of 
Stark. 

“ The noblest, truest creature in all the world,” 
declared the Ranger, stroking the long hair about 
the top of his head and smoothing out his ears. “ I 
wish every friend of mine was as true. Now go, 
Sergeant, and return as quickly as you may, for 
we have a big night’s work ahead.” 


58 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


Then the Sergeant dropped back to his normal 
position, slipped silently into the water, and was 
soon swimming industriously toward the distant 
canoe rocking softly on the lake. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE MYSTERY OF THE CANOE 

“ I count sich a friend among the rarest gifts 
to man, and I am not unmindful of a woman’s 
tender sympathy,” remarked the Woodranger, as 
his gaze followed the course of the dog, whose 
head could be seen on a level with the surface of the 
sun-kissed waters. “ There be no dissembling with 
’em as have but one mind and but one heart and 
a singleness o’ purpose.” 

The companions of the Woodranger were all 
watching closely the progress of the Sergeant ; even 
Indian Plume, who had withdrawn slightly apart 
from the scouts, appearing as anxious as they, 
though ever and anon she glanced furtively down 
the shore of the lake where — 

“ The leaning trees formed a frame for the pictured crystal.” 

If the cautious Stark failed to notice this con- 
cealed uneasiness on the part of the mysterious 
maid, the Woodranger was watchful of her move- 
ments, saying, while he allowed nothing to escape 
his keen gaze, as if communing with himself : 

59 


6o 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ It be an amazement crossed and crisscrossed 
with unknownness. It be unseemly that yon canoe 
holds innocent life. How calmly the Horican 
sleeps, like a babe on its mother’s breast! Aweel, 
now’s me, it does not require the gift o’ a prophet 
to see that its slumbers will soon be broken. Ay, 
the deer the brown-faces hunted has laid down to 
rest, and the kin o’ the trout he speared in these 
pools has grown overbold. But the fibres o’ the 
charm swing in the air like the threads o’ a ravelled 
skein. The trail o’ war is winding hither, and na- 
tur’ must lend her arts to the wanton legions o’ 
men. 

“ Aweel, it be the irony o’ fate that these fair 
waters and woodlands should be desecrated by the 
sons o’ that God who created it all for their pleas- 
ure. Somehow I like the fancy o’ the red man 
consarning the puttin’ on the raiments o’ the earth. 
If only the patchwork o’ the cunning brain o’ 
the plumed pagan, to me it be fringed with beauty 
and stitched with natur’s arts. 

“ It is believable that once this fairy-land was 
barren rock and unsodden earth, where no forest 
bloomed or clear waters hung their transparent cur- 
tains against the twilight. In his lodge o’ the 
Dawn, the Great Spirit looked down upon the cold, 
naked world, shivering in its desolation, and out 
of pity he sent his four sons to be warders o’ this 


the mystery of the canoe 


6 1 


realm. One in garments o’ red, and features glow- 
ing with the warmth o’ a melting heart, went to 
the southland. One took up his abode in the west, 
his lodge hidden behind the shades o’ night. An- 
other, grown gray with his years, and breathing 
the pitiless breath o’ cold and hunger, sought the 
broad plain o’ the northland, from whence he swept 
with unceasing fury. And the youngest, brightest 
o’ the brothers, flew swifter than the eagle flies 
to the tent o’ the morning star. Tossing his golden 
and bright plumes under the stars o’ heaven, he 
was merriest o’ ’em all. Thus these four brothers, 
the winds, roamed far and wide the lonely earth 
without solace and without the fruits o’ happiness, 
“ Seeing that these brothers, as mighty as they 
were, could not bring the spring-time with its blos- 
soms, the summer with its sunny skies, the autumn 
with its fruits, or the winter with its cold that 
makes comradeship dear, the Creator touched the 
rock with his spear, and the cataract sprang down 
its noisy race-way, where it still runs its endless 
trail. He drew a circle around the valley, and the 
blue lake lifted its smiling face, with dripping lilies 
on her breast. Then he drew long, crooked lines 
o’er the rugged earth, and wherever his spear went 
followed the ‘ water of serpents,’ the rivers. Where 
he touched lightest, the brooks were born, which 
were the * waters of birds.’ From the point o’ 


62 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


his dripping spear fell innumerable drops, which 
became the many-hued trees forming the forests 
o’ the land. As he had given the waters lilies, he 
gave to the wildwoods roses; ay, he gave to one 
and all the many sweet and beautiful things that 
adorn natur’. Then the four brothers, the winds 
o’ the bended sky, were happy in their wanton free- 
dom. Soon the birds o’ the air and the beasts o’ 
the forest joined them in their wild carousals, when 
there came this bridal of winds and waters.” 

While the Woodranger had been telling this 
legend of the red men, an unbroken watch had 
been kept over the movements of the Sergeant, who 
was now drawing near to the strange canoe. The 
dog was moving slower now than formerly, as if 
he was approaching with greater caution the object 
of his long swim. 

“ The creature shows proper discretion,” re- 
marked the forester, who was aware that the uneasi- 
ness of Indian Plume continued to become more 
apparent as the dog lessened the distance between 
himself and the canoe. 

“ I wonder what Sergeant will do when he 
reaches the boat,” said Ben, who could not help 
admiring the canine’s sagacity thus far in his work. 

“ He’ll get it ashore somehow,” replied Stark. 
“ I never saw him unable yet to do what he had 
undertaken. Ha ! he is swimming around the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE CANOE 63 

thing; he is trying to make out if it is occupied. 
Zounds ! there is something about it I do not under- 
stand. Sergeant is looking in; he knows now, if 
we do not.” 

While Stark was speaking, the dog was seen to 
rise from the water, as if he was indeed trying to 
get a view inside of the canoe. After this he swam 
half -around the object, and then he appeared to 
be starting upon his return. 

“ He is coming back!” declared Ben. “We 
shall know no more of the boat than before. I am 
going to try and swim out to it.” 

“ Nary necessity for that. I opine the dog will 
trail that bit o’ birch to us quicker’n you could go 
after it.” 

“ Sergeant is true to his word,” declared Stark. 
“ He told me just as plain as if he had spoken the 
words that he would bring that canoe in, and he 
is going to do it, mark my words.” 

There was no ^ptibting the intentions of the faith- 
ful dog, and all the scouts had to do was to watch 
and wait the work of the intelligent animal. 

“ Indian Plume go now,” said the strange young 
woman, speaking for the first time since reaching 
the shore of the lake. 

“ Forgive an ol’ man for brooking the will o’ 
the flower o’ the forest, but it be discretionary that 
you stay your perambulations a goodish bit longer 


6 4 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


— till yon canoe has come to land,” said the Wood- 
ranger, in a tone of authority. 

She looked sharply upon him as he spoke, and 
for the first time Stark saw her uneasiness and 
desire to leave the place. 

“ Sergeant will not be long in towing it in 
ashore,” he said. “ Why is the maid in haste to 
go?” 

“ Long way to go. Indian Plume can be of 
no more good to white men.” 

But the Woodranger seemed determined that she 
should remain, and that was sufficient reason in 
Stark’s mind that she should. Finding it would 
not be good policy to disobey the forester, she con- 
cealed her chagrin, and resumed the watch with the 
others in silence. 

Sergeant was now coming into plain sight, when 
it was soon discovered that he was towing the 
canoe by a line which he held between his teeth, 
while he resolutely breasted the water. The scouts 
naturally came to the conclusion that he had found 
this thong hanging from one side of the boat, and 
had wisely seized upon it as his means of getting 
the canoe ashore. 

-No sooner had the dog begun to come near to 
the shore than Stark went out into the water to 
his knees, to assist the Sergeant the moment the 
canoe came within his reach. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE CANOE 


65 


“ Good Sergeant/’ said his master, approvingly, 
“ you have done nobly, — better than I expected. 
But who can those be in the boat ? ” 

Standing on shore, the Woodranger had already 
seen that the canoe carried two persons, or at least 
two bodies lay in its bottom. Both of these re- 
mained as motionless as if dead. 

“ Some victims of Indian slaughter,” thought 


Stark. 


As the Sergeant touched bottom with his feet, he 
relinquished the canoe to the care of his master, 
giving his body a tremendous shake by way of 
relief, while the scouts crowded down to the side 
of the canoe. 

“ Are they dead ? ” asked Ben Browne, upon 
seeing the figures in the boat. 

“ I thought at first they were,” said Stark, “ but 
the young man breathes.” 

“ Aweel, now’s me, one be a woman, not young 
lik Plufne, nor yet ol’ like my — ” 



Woodranger suddenly checked his 


speech, and, though it was not noticed by the others, 
save the forest maid, he turned pale, and for a 
moment he threatened to fall. But he quickly re- 
covered himself, and, giving the occupants a closer 
scrutiny, he murmured to himself, his thoughts 
finding expression in incoherent language: 

“ It cannot be she ! These ol’ eyes have lost their 


66 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


cunning, or has this ol’ head run away with me 
as the spring freshet gets away with the babbling 
brook? The forehead, the mouth, the chin are the 
same, I swan I believe they are. She — here! It 
can ne’er be — nay — ” 

“ What did you say, Woodranger? ” asked Stark, 
looking up from the prostrate figures into the face 
of the forester. “ Do you know them? ” 

“ I say — / say ? ” fairly gasped the scout, while 
the bronze upon his features suddenly took on an 
ashen hue. Then, rallying, he added : “ I was only 
thinking, William, but, good Lord! what a noisy 
thinker I’m getting to be! It is a weakness that 
comes with the years, lad, so do not blame an ol’ 
man with a cross. But, here we are as if we were 
not within a moon’s perambulation o’ a plumed 
pagan, to say nothing o’ the boastful Frincher, 
worse than pizen, and nary an eye on watch. It 
is a wanton indiscretion. Do you look after the 
twain in the canoe, and I will cast an eye to the 
inemy.” 

Without stopping for a reply to this suggestion, 
the much perturbed Woodranger began to patrol 
the narrow beach, every sense of his strained in 
his watchfulness. 

Used to the moods of his older companion, and 
loving him the better for them, William Stark now 


THE MYSTERY OF THE CANOE 6? 

gave his whole attention to the couple in the boat, 
saying to his friends: 

“ Here, Ben, Lige, lend a hand, and we will lift 
him out upon the ground, where he will rest more 
comfortably. And the woman, too. See! he is 
wounded. ,, 

The others quickly did as they were requested, 
and a moment later the young man was placed ten- 
derly down upon the white sand just beyond the 
reach of the water. Then William Stark, with a 
gallantry natural to him, removed his jacket and 
spread it carefully upon the smooth beach, saying: 

“We will place the woman upon that. I am 
afraid she is not likely to recover. Easy there, 
Lige, how clumsy you are ! Ben and I can do bet- 
ter alone.” 

While he was speaking, he gently raised the head 
and shoulders of the unconscious woman, and, with 
the assistance of Ben, he transferred her from the 
canoe to a place beside the man. 

“ They are mother and son,” he declared, “ mark 
my word for that. He is the image of her, and a 
likely looking fellow, too. I do not see — ha! she 
is wounded in the shoulder. See the blood upon 
my hand. It is a bitter shot. Here, Wood — ” 

“ Hush, lad ! do not profane the air with that 
name here — now! Forgive the o V man for his 
foolish whim. Ay, it be a whim, and there is noth- 


68 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


ing so foolish as a whim. You will humour the ol’ 
whimmer, William?” 

“ Of course, Wood — I mean, Taconica,” replied 
Stark, with considerable surprise. 

“ Now’s me, William, that’s the call. Taconica 
is good. You’ll ne’er forget to trail that thought, 
lads? ” appealing to Ben and Lige, who gave willing 
consent. 

Having exacted this promise, he started toward 
the wounded stranger, murmuring as he drew near 
to her: 

a It be risky — risky, like the foolishness o’ the 
hunted buck that looks back into the hunter’s face 
— and yet, the e’en” (eye) “ that is locked canna 
see the sun, na the burn ” (brook) “ that is drae ” 
(dry) “ whisper its secrets.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


WARNING OF THE COMING BATTLE 

With this soliloquy upon his lips, which con- 
tinued to move even after he had ceased to speak, 
the Woodranger bent slowly, thoughtfully over the 
unconscious woman until he had noted each linea- 
ment of her features, and had seen that the gar- 
ments about her left shoulder were stained with 
blood. Then, slowly waving his left hand around, 
as if he would motion his companions to retire to 
a greater distance, he began to loosen the clothes 
over the wound. 

His movements were swifter now, and he had 
quickly bared the white flesh encircling the discol- 
oured skin, when he bent a searching look upon 
the place. As he did so, he brushed his hand across 
his eyes twice, as if to remove some cloud which 
had gathered over them. He did not seem to 
breathe during his hasty examination, when he 
lifted his head and beckoned to Indian Plume, 
who had been standing a short distance away, a 
silent and awed spectator of the scene. 

“ Fetch a goodish handful o’ water from the 
69 


70 


WITH ROGERS ’ RANGERS 


Horican,” he whispered rather than spoke aloud. 
“ There be a saving grace in water that is pure, 
and first o’ all I must get the signs o’ this trail o’ 
lead afore I can read its amazement.” 

He had not finished speaking before the light- 
footed Indian Plume had reached the side of the 
crystal water, and scooping up a double handful, 
she hastened to the aid of the Woodranger. 

“ Is the white fawn lost to life? ” asked the maid, 
softly. 

“ Nay, lass, that may not be,” replied the forest 
surgeon, clearing the wound of its clotted blood 
with a gentleness of touch that only a strong man 
can give. “ The birch that lost its foliage last year 
lives again, so the soul that escapes its earthly shell 
finds greater freedom in a newer sphere. She 
breathes, if you call that life, but it be a gift o’ 
mercy that she feels not the hurt o’ my bungling 
fingers. It be an ugly trail wound by that bit o’ 
lead, as if it had a spite against her who had held 
no wrong against it. Now’s me, it did seek the 
heart, but it missed it by the breadth o’ a hair. It 
was sent upward and outward, but, like a hunted 
thing, was driven criss-angle to its purpose. It 
seemed to get bewildered now, and, like a deer that 
can run no farther, it laid down to rest. And — 
aweel! hyur’s the inemy where it’ll ne’er hurt her 


more. 


WARNING OF THE COMING BATTLE 7 1 

As he finished speaking, so swiftly and dex- 
terously had the Woodranger acted, he now held 
up between his thumb and forefinger the little globe 
of lead which had come so near taking the life 
of the woman. The work of this uncouth surgeon, 
who moved with as much celerity and precision 
as any trained operator might have done, applied 
more of the limpid water brought him by Indian 
Plume, and quickly staunched the flow of blood 
by a generous application of thin, dark-coloured 
salve that he produced from his stock of supplies, 
and some lint scraped fine and soft. This accom- 
plished, he restored the clothing to their proper 
position, saying as he did so: 

“ The salve o’ the oak, if properly prepared, be 
the master o' healing. It is nature’s remedy. How 
her temples do throb ! The warm blood has found 
its old trails, but blunders along like a child that 
has not the secret o’ its strength,” bathing her 
forehead as he spoke, and chafing the hands and 
wrists, joined in this by Indian Plume. 

While they, the Woodranger and the unknown 
maid, worked together to restore life to the uncon- 
scious form, Stark and Ben were performing very 
similar action over the youth. The former had 
dressed his wound, if not as successfully as the for- 
ester had treated his charge, in a creditable manner. 
At any rate, this patient began to open his eyes 


7 2 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


before the task was fairly completed, and now he 
arose to a sitting posture, looking around in a 
dazed, bewildered way. The Ranger laid a re- 
straining hand on his shoulder, to keep him from 
trying to gain his feet. 

“ Where am I ? ” asked the stranger. “ Is this 
— I remember — the shot — the yells — how they 
ring in my ears! But mother! where is she? ” and 
it required all of Stark’s strength, and he was 
strong-armed, to keep the speaker from leaping to 
his feet. 

“ Do not overexert yourself, sir,” admonished 
the Ranger. “Your mother is safe — ” 

“ There she is ! ” cried the other, pointing to the 
woman, who at that very moment was beginning 
to move, and Indian Plume exclaimed, as she 
clapped her hands with joy: 

“ She lives — she opens her eyes ! ” 

Before one of the four scouts could speak, a light 
step was heard in the growth near at hand, and 
an instant later a lithe, dusky figure burst into view 
close by their sides. 

It was Philip, the friendly Sokokis ! 

As the wounded woman had begun to show signs 
of returning consciousness, and her eyes opened in 
wonder, the Woodranger had sprung back, as if 
alarmed at this awakening. He was now the first 
to address the Sokokis chief, asking: 


WARNING OF THE COMING BATTLE 73 

“ What cheer bring you, Philip ? By the horn- 
beam o’ the Ossipees, it is no common errant that 
brings you hither on sich a foot.” 

“French on the war-path!” replied the forest 
runner in his vivid, terse speech. 

“Near?” asked the Woodranger, more than 
equalling the brevity of Philip. 

“ They were near Crown Point, and moving 
toward Carillon . 1 From there they will march 
toward the Mohawk, to surprise the English.” 

“ Now’s me, that shows the Frinch are not as 
slow as our Britishers, who take so long to think 
that they have no time to act. It may be better 
that the Frinch move, so long as you have trailed 
their purpose, Philip.” 

“ Tell us all you know, Philip,” said Stark. 
“ We have been sent by General Johnson to recon- 
noitre about Crown Point, and to see what the 
French are doing at Carillon. Here we have lost 
a whole month fooling about trifles, and waiting for 
orders from home governments. Go on, Philip, 
with your account.” 

Franklin used to compare these British command- 
ers of the regular army to the figure of St. George 
found upon the signs of the hostelries of that time, 

1 Indian name for Ticonderoga, a bold point of rocky earth 
commanding the waters of Lake Champlain by both the routes of 
Lake George and Wood Creek. — Author. 


74 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“always on horseback, but never going on.” But 
the delays were due also to other causes than the 
sluggish action of the commander. The five pro- 
vincial governments could not unite in their courses 
of action, and little questions of argument were con- 
stantly adding to the vexations of the leaders of 
the English forces. As a matter of fact, four Mo- 
hawk scouts had returned from Canada with the 
report that the French were about to start with 
eight thousand men to defend the entrance to Lake 
Champlain, over two weeks before, but still the 
English dallied. A demand was made upon New 
England for more troops, and the main body of the 
army had moved up the river to the end of the 
“ great carrying-place,” where a fortified store- 
house called Fort Lyman and then Fort Edward 
was begun, as has been mentioned. Two old In- 
dian trails led from this spot to Lake Champlain, 
one by the way of Lake George and the other a 
parallel route by Wood Creek. As it was uncertain 
which way the French would be most likely to 
favour, there was hesitancy as to which trail the 
English should fortify or prepare to defend. Wood 
Creek was first selected, but soon after abandoned 
for the other, and forthwith two thousand men 
were ordered to march to Lake George. 

The path was rough, and the journey was made 
with moderate movements, though the shore of the 


WARNING OF THE COMING BATTLE 75 

Horican was reached before nightfall, and there, 
within sight of the beautiful sheet of water, which 
the commander lost no time in naming for his king, 
the soldiers went into camp. Their camping-place 
was near where Fort George was afterward raised. 
Singular enough, the good-natured commander, 
who seemed to be more anxious to please his men 
than to prepare for the enemy, made no move to 
fortify here, nor did he try to ascertain what the 
French might be doing. So a whole week passed 
with no greater action than the moving of further 
stores from Fort Lyman, and an occasional scout 
in the direction of Wood Creek. 

The little party under Stark, whose adventures 
interest us, was a final exception to the rule. And 
to this party we will return to learn the message 
Philip was bearing to General Johnson. The So- 
kokis replied to Stark’s request in nearly the fol- 
lowing words: 

“ French very much alive — not bit like English. 
They come to Crown Point, with Indians and Cana- 
dians, then to Carillon, where they leave a part 
of their men, and move in canoes up Lake Cham- 
plain to where the lake very narrow and two big 
white rocks keep guard . 1 Here more are left to 
keep watch, while others go in canoes up the lake 
further and further along the Drowned Lands. 

1 Near the site of the present town of Whitehall. 


;6 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


Then they come where waters divide, and they keep 
along into South Bay to its head. From there they 
begin march through forest, and last night they 
camp by Big Cat Brook. To-day they march upon 
English camped near Lake George.” 

“ And we shall be too late to warn Johnson of 
his peril ? ” asked Stark, anxiously. 

“ It may be not,” replied Philip. “ Lot of men 
do not move always as fast as they expect.” 

“ True, Philip. How many are there, do you 
think, of the French and their allies?” 

“ Not far from fifteen hundred, counting six hun- 
dred Indians.” 

“ Not many for our troops to overcome if they 
are only on their guard and act promptly. But 
this will not do for us, Philip. The news must be 
carried, not only to General Johnson, but to Colonel 
Blanchard, stationed with his New Hampshire men 
at Fort Lyman. We shall miss Captain Rogers, 
who, if I am not mistaken, has not returned from 
his scout to the Mohawk.” 

“ What is to be done for this young man and 
his mother, to say nothing of the girl ? ” asked Ben 
Browne. 

“ It would be unjust for us to leave them to a 
fate they could not hope to escape in a country 
overrun by an enemy that knows no mercy,” re- 
plied the humane Stark. “ If you and the Wood- 


WARNING OF THE COMING BATTLE J7 

ranger will see them into camp, I will scout toward 
South Bay, while you, Philip, hasten to camp with 
the news of the close approach of the foe.” 

“ Nay, lad,” said the Woodranger, who was con- 
tinuing to show great excitement for him, “ let the 
youngsters trail with the women and the wounded 
youth, while I perambulate into the inemy’s camp. 
I can do it, I swan I can, lad.” 

While Stark was willing to humour his friend, 
there were reasons why he should insist upon his 
plan. So he said: 

“ You will be of more help to them than a dozen 
youngsters, Woodranger, and, mark my words, they 
will need all of your cunning carefulness before 
they run the gauntlet of the enemies.” 

“ I can read the sign clear enough to see that, 
William, but there be personal p’ints in this amaze- 
ment which it may be well to favour. I will help 
to kiver the trail, lad, but more I cannot do. Mebbe 
that’ll be enough. But, with all that discretion, 
there be other knots to unravel. Neither the woman 
nor the boy can perambulate through the forest, 
and I opine it will ne’er be discretionary for ’em 
to follow the water to camp, allowing that there be 
a camp to find when we get along.” 

“ I was thinking of that — ” began Stark, but, 
seeing that Indian Plume wished to speak, he 


78 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


stopped, indicating by a nod of his head that he 
was ready to listen to her. 

“If the white scout thinks it best, the poor 
woman and her son can be taken to my cabin, 
which I call ‘ The Lookout.' It is only a little way 
from the edge of the water, and, once there, they 
will be as safe as anywhere outside of the camp 
from the prowling enemies.” 

“ Good ! ” said Stark. “ It will be the best we 
can do at present. As soon as we have driven the 
French and their red allies away, we will take them 
to Fort Lyman. I see, Philip, you are anxious to 
be going, and it is right you should be. May you 
find swift passage to the camp.” 

The next moment the faithful scout vanished into 
the forest, and his light step was no longer heard. 

“ Now, Woodranger, if you and Ben will go with 
these others, Lige and I will look after the enemy. 
The Sergeant may go with you as watchman if you 
wish him.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE HOME OF INDIAN PLUME 

Stark, who could see that this plan ill suited 
the Woodranger, said: 

“ If you insist upon it, Woodranger, I will go 
with them and you may take my place. I think 
Colonel Blanchard would not complain, though you 
must know I am expected to report before to-mor- 
row morning. As you do not belong to the regi- 
ment by enlistment, you are your own master. I 
will answer for Ben.” 

“ Aweel, now’s me, William, I unravel the skein 
to the last knot. I ne’er shirked a duty, and I am 
not going to shift this. It be growing dark soon. 
You lift them into the canoe, and Ben can take 
’em across the water. I will foller — sort o’ trail 
on to see a brown-face does not scent their tracks. 
Mebbe I’d better perambulate down the shore a bit 
to see that no red is now clus by.” 

William Stark heard and understood, and nod- 
ding to the forester, he lent his assistance to Ben 
and Lige in getting the fugitives back into the 
canoe. As soon as this was done, he said: 

79 


8o 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ Row them according to the directions of In- 
dian Plume, Ben. The Sergeant may go with you. 
Taconica does not think the canoe will hold another, 
but you can count upon him to be on hand to help 
you as soon as he is needed.” 

“ We are sorry to put you to so much trouble,” 
said the young man. “ I would fain know to whom 
we are indebted for this kindness.” 

“ My name is William Stark.” 

“ I have heard Rob speak of you and John 
Stark.” 

“ He is my brother, and is now near by with the 
New Hampshire Rangers under Captain Robert 
Rogers.” 

“ Can that be true ? ” asked the other, in pleased 
surprise. “ Do you hear that, mother ? Robert 
Rogers is near by. Can you tell me if you have 
ever known a man called ‘ The Woodranger/ Mr. 
Stark?” 

“ I think I did know such a man once,” replied 
Stark. “ But you will pardon me if I leave you, 
sir. I must report at camp.” 

“ Forgive me for having detained you so. I hope 
to see you again, for mother and I are anxious to 
find this strange man, the Woodranger.” 

Stark felt that he had already lost too much time, 
and, without replying to the young man, he bade 
the little party a safe passage across the lake, and 


THE HOME OF INDIAN PLUME 


81 


the next moment, with Lige Bitlock upon his heels, 
he disappeared up the path in the direction Philip 
had taken a few minutes before. 

The Woodranger was to be seen in the distance 
slowly moving along the shore, and realizing what 
was expected of him, Ben now took his position 
in the canoe, with paddle in hand. Indian Plume 
took a post in the prow of the light craft, and only 
the Sergeant remained to enter the boat. 

This faithful follower of Stark had started to 
go with his master, but a word from the latter had 
sent him back to the others, and now, at a word 
from Ben, he plunged into the water and swam 
after the canoe as it was carried out toward the 
middle of the lake by his strong arm. 

“ How are you feeling, mother ? ” asked the 
young man, in a tone of deep solicitude, while he 
held her head in his lap. 

“ As comfortable as could be expected, my son. 
But I have had such a dream. I thought some 
one I knew in my young days, before all this trouble 
and anxiety had come into my life, stood before 
me, and he seemed to speak to me in the old familiar 
voice.” 

“ It was a dream, mother. We have fallen 
among friends, and, though we are still in a coun- 
try overrun with enemies, let us hope we shall safely 
get out of it.” 


8 2 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ Amen, my son. But how are you feeling, 
Alex? Forgive me for my forgetfulness of you.” 

“ I am all right, mother ; at least, I shall be in 
a few days. Now you must not get excited.” 

Ben was plying his paddle with diligence, and 
the shore of the lake was only a misty outline in 
the gathering gloom of the approaching night. The 
silence of the twilight hour was unbroken by a 
sound deeper than the gentle swish of the water 
as it beat against the sides of the light craft being 
propelled with rapid strokes onward by the lusty 
arm of Ben. Indian Plume, from her vantage, 
was maintaining a close watch of their surround- 
ings as far as her youthful vision could reach, while 
her mind seemed to be occupied with uncommon 
thoughts. The young man who had nothing just 
then to take up his attention had become absorbed 
by her appearance. Her picturesque beauty charmed 
him, and he soon became forgetful of the perils 
environing them, until suddenly he saw her give 
a quick start of alarm, and a moment later, as if 
she had anticipated it, the dull report of a firearm 
came booming over the water with unnatural clear- 
ness. 

“ Dear me ! what was that ? ” asked the woman, 
in alarm. 

“ Some chance shot, mother,” replied her son. 


THE HOME OF INDIAN PLUME 83 

“ I do not believe we need be disturbed, do you, 
miss ? ” addressing Indian Plume. 

“ I think it was the old woodsman’s gun,” she 
replied. “ I am afraid, though I am not sure, that 
there is a canoe full of Indians on the lake. They 
must be Hurons.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” exclaimed the frightened woman, 
“ what if they come this way?” 

“ They cannot overtake us before we reach the 
Lookout,” said Indian Plume. “ There is another 
shot. What can it mean? I hope they will not 
kill the old man.” 

After this nothing was said for several minutes, 
while no further cause for alarm came from the 
distance. The darkness had now settled upon the 
lake, so they could not discover an object far away. 
Ben continued to send the canoe ahead at a rapid 
rate, despite the burden it bore, and the gaze of 
Indian Plume was now fixed ahead. Presently the 
keen eyes of Alex discovered the near proximity 
of the shore, and saw rising so abruptly from the 
water as to tower almost over their heads the 
rugged side of a mountain. 

“ Steer for that rock shelf a little to your right, 
white man,” directed Indian Plume, who had arisen 
to her feet and stood peering into the space in their 
track. 

“ Are we almost there?” asked the woman. 


8 4 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ I think so, mother,” replied her son. “ Is that 
not so, miss ? ” he asked of the maiden. 

“ Lookout where you see tall pine — taller than 
the rocks,” answered Indian Plume, briefly, looking 
now to see that the canoe did not ground upon the 
rocks. 

Alex had seen before this a giant pine whose 
massive trunk rose from the narrow band of land 
between the shore of the lake and the base of the 
mountain like a monarch among the smaller trees 
that clothed the height in its primeval garb. But 
he looked in vain for any sign of a human habita- 
tion. In fact, the very nature of the mountain- 
side seemed to make it impossible for a dwelling 
.to find room for its walls, though there was ample 
foundation for them in the granite cliffs frowning 
upon the intruder. 

As they drew nearer, a small cove was seen 
toward which Indian Plume guided the canoe, and 
no sooner had it entered the shallow water than she 
sprang out, to bring it to a standstill under the over- 
hanging branches of a birch then in foliage. 

Ben followed her example, while at the same 
time the faithful Sergeant emerged from the water 
beside him. 

“ Where is your house ? ” asked Ben in good 
faith. 

Indian Plume laughed softly, saying: 


THE HOME OF INDIAN PLUME 


85 


“ Follow me. It is not far, but it is a hard path 
to climb. I wonder if the old woodsman will be 
here soon to help you.” 

“ I wish I could walk,” said Alex. “ But I am 
so helpless, as well as mother.” 

“No need,” replied Indian Plume. “ Ben and 
I make a seat like this,” crossing her hands in imi- 
tation of a “chair.” “Me strong; she not very 
heavy.” 

Alex was fain to agree to this plan, as much 
as he would desire to spare her the effort. But 
Indian Plume soon proved that she was as good 
as words, for she bore her part of the burden with 
quite as much ease as did stout Ben Browne, who 
had worked in the woods all of his life and had 
muscles like iron. 

Upon pushing their way through the fringe of 
bushes skirting the water, it was found that a well- 
worn path wound up the ascent, passing around 
huge boulders and clinging at times to narrow rims 
of rocks, but finally coming to what looked from the 
outside like a thick growth of hemlock covering 
a small plateau of about a hundred feet square rest- 
ing upon the mountainside. Rising beside this, 
and towering far above it, stood the great pine 
already mentioned. 

Upon gaining this place, Indian Plume pushed 
her way through the living wall, while she con- 


86 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


tinued to assist Ben in bearing the injured woman. 
Inside this natural barrier Ben was surprised to find 
a small cottage made of stones, the whole arranged 
and built by some experienced person. The rough- 
ness of its exterior was relieved by vines and creep- 
ers festooning its walls and hanging in fantastic 
draperies over its entrance. 

As it was dark within the abode, Indian Plume 
led the way carefully to a couch of furs at one side, 
where the woman was allowed to rest after her try- 
ing trip hither. 

“ I will soon have a light,” said the maid, and 
a moment later she had ignited a pitch knot by 
some coals slumbering upon the stone hearth. Seen 
by this flickering blaze, Ben was surprised to find 
that there was an air of comfort and beauty about 
the humble room he had scarcely expected. Alex 
was assisted in the same manner as his mother, 
and he, more than the young Ranger, was pleased 
by the cosy appearance of the apartment. 

“ What a strange place for a home,” he said, 
“ and how nicely you have it all arranged. Surely 
you do not live here alone ? ” 

“ Alone,” she said, simply, beginning to fan the 
coals of fire. “ Is the lady feeling better ? ” 

“ Pardon me, mother, for forgetting you,” said 
Alex, rising on his couch, the words of Indian 


THE HOME OF INDIAN PLUME 87 

Plume recalling his mind back to his maternal duty. 
“ Are you resting comfortably ? ” 

“ Better than might be expected after what I 
have been through. My wound feels so much 
easier. Some one has dressed it.” 

“ Yes, mother, though I did not see him until 
he was turning away. Can you tell us who he was, 
Mr. Browne?” 

“ An old scout called Taconica,” replied Ben, 
recollecting the Woodranger’s promise in season 
to escape speaking the name by which he was best 
known. “ He is very skilled in that.” 

“ What do you think has become of him ? ” 

“ I am at a loss to say. But, as I am not needed 
any more here, I think I will begin a little guard 
duty just outside the building. With the enemy 
prowling about, it stands us in hand to keep our 
eyes open.” 

“ I will watch for you a little later,” said the 
other. 

“ I shall not be alone, for the Sergeant will be 
with me. He has already begun his vigil.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT 

As Ben had expected, he found the Sergeant 
lying upon the ground a short distance from the 
door, his nose resting upon his fore paws, while 
his eyes were fixed upon a small opening in the 
hemlock wall surrounding the dwelling. 

“ Good Sergeant,” said Ben, patting the dog 
upon his head, while he took a position beside him. 
“ Do you see any sign of danger? ” 

The dog wagged his tail, moved a little nearer 
his companion, to continue his watch without fur- 
ther notice of him. 

Ben’s mind was quickly filled with thoughts of 
home, and the father and mother who at that mo- 
ment might be thinking of him. How far to him 
seemed his home, though, as we travel to-day, it 
was only a few hours’ journey. He fell to won- 
dering what the morrow would bring forth, and 
if there was to be some hard fighting with the allied 
enemies. He knew enough of Indian warfare to 
dread the coming scenes, though he was no coward. 

The French, he had been told, were better fighters 
88 


Voices of the night 


than the English. “ If we had more men like 
those under Rogers, and more leaders like the brave 
Ranger chief, it would fare better with us,” he 
thought. “ General Johnson is not bad, but he's 
too slow. Well, all we can do is to keep our eyes 
open and do our best. Who can this pretty girl 
be who is living here in this strange fashion, and 
why is she here ? ” 

While communing thus with himself, Ben could 
not help noticing that the night seemed uncom- 
monly, unnaturally quiet. Not a sound broke the 
darkness, relieved now somewhat by the stars over- 
head, which were scarcely brighter than the mimic 
stars dancing in the clear waters of the Horican, 
where patches of the lake were to be seen through 
rifts in trees, which answered the purpose of win- 
dows. 

In the midst of his lonely vigil, Sergeant sud- 
denly lifted his nose and sniffed the air sharply 
for a moment, when he dropped his head to its 
former position. 

“ What is it, Sergeant ? ” asked Ben, somewhat 
alarmed, for he had not discovered anything sus- 
picious. 

He had barely asked the question before the shrill 
note given by a hawk as it swoops down upon its 
prey broke the ominous silence of the scene. Ap- 
parently it came from the water below him, and 


90 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


he was for a moment deceived by the sound, believ- 
ing it came from a real bird that had in some man- 
ner approached him without being seen. But the 
cry of the hawk was quickly followed by the sub- 
dued tu-who of an owl, and half-springing to his 
feet, he exclaimed under his breath: 

“ The Woodranger ! ” 

He had scarcely uttered this exclamation before 
the tall figure of the forester stood directly in front 
of him. His hand instantly dropped to his gun, 
and he was about to lift the weapon, when the 
Woodranger said : 

“ Nay, lad, it be a wanton indiscretion to lift a 
finger when the inemy has crisscrossed your trail. 
It was discretion you wanted a bit ’arlier. But for- 
give the ol’ man for his foolishness, and tell him 
if the others be safe within the stone hut.” 

“ Safe, Wood — I mean, Taconica. But how 
came you so soon, when we expected you had been 
killed?” 

“ I know nothing as to what you may have ex- 
pected. I came as soon as might be. The reds did 
give me a bit o’ an amazement, and I do not prev- 
icate the truth when I say, had I been prone to sich 
wanton foolishness, I might have fringed my leg- 
gin’s with scalp-locks, but I’d ne’er mar their beauty 
for their race in the happy hunting-grounds, I swan 
I wouldn’t. Man is ugly enough at his best, let 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT 


91 


alone the brown-faced pagan, whose mirror is the 
waters that swallows his imperfections. The canoe 
I captured from 'em did sarve me a good turn, and 
I was keerful to kiver it where ’twill come in handy, 
it may be, by and by. But how my tongue rattles 
on the rocks o’ conceit, like the fall wind through 
a frost-bitten forest, when there be trails to follow 
which winds through many lives. Durst know it, 
lad, the woods be full o’ prowling heathens with 
mouths parched for human blood. The Frinch are 
up and movin’, something to their credit, I swan 
it is.” 

“ Do you think we are in danger here, Tacon- 
ica?” 

“ I durst ne’er dissemble ; there is not a rock 
or tree or bit o’ water where one could call him- 
self free. I ne’er claim the craft o’ a .prophet, but 
to-morrow’s tale will be writ in blood. How did 
the woman and the young man make their jarney 
here, Ben ? ” 

“ They seemed to gain, rather than lose, strength, 
Wood — Taconica. That strange girl and I made 
them as comfortable as possible, and she is with 
them now, while the Sergeant and I took up our 
station here.” 

“ Which showed proper discretion, lad. You 
have the gift o’ woodcraft, and with proper train- 
ing you will be a credit to Rogers’ Rangers. Rob 


02 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


took to it like a duck to the water, and the Stark 
boys were ne’er laggards in picking up the signs. 
I know not if their book-l’arning be great, they 
were mother-taught and forest-trained, which will 
stand ’em in good hand. So the woman picked 
up a leetle strength, lad ? ” 

“ Yes, Taconica. She rallied in a remarkable 
manner.” 

“ Didst notice the eye, lad ? Did that look bright 
and cheerful, even as the morning sun looks when 
it has flung aside the robes o’ night and smiles down 
upon the new-born earth ? ” 

“ Her eyes did seem very bright, Taconica. I 
could not help noticing that. And she seemed to 
be looking around, as if she was expecting to see 
some one come forward and speak to her.” 

The Woodranger suddenly started forward, and, 
grasping the hand of Ben, exclaimed in a voice 
lowered to a whisper: 

“ Did she do that, lad ? And you trailed sich 
a look ? Did she call any name ? let drop any word 
that would give you a sign o’ who she might be see- 
ing with her mind’s eye? Now think clus to the 
ground, lad, clus to the ground.” 

“ No, Wood — Taconica, she mentioned no name. 
In truth, it may have been only my fancy that she 
was looking for some one. Stay, come to think of 
it, she did say that she had had a wonderful dream, 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT 


93 


in which some one she had known a long time ago 
stood beside her. Then she asked who had dressed 
her wound.” 

“ Didst tell her, lad?” 

“ I said it was an old woodsman who had grown 
cunning in such matters.” 

“ A discretionary string o' words, lad, save, ay, 
save the indiscretion o’ saying he, who is only a 
bungler, was cunning in his craft.” 

With these words the Woodranger turned about, 
and he stood for what seemed a long time to Ben 
peering out through an opening in the hemlock 
wall about them upon a patch of the lake, where 
the stars danced and glimmered like so many tiny 
lanterns carried by invisible hands. The night was 
warm for the season of the year, and here and there 
small fleecy clouds, looking like fragments torn 
from the great web of the sky, floated to and fro 
over the night-blue background. A gentle gust of 
wind, wafting to them the perfume of the distant 
pines and the sweetness of summer, shook for a 
moment the delicate drapery of the hemlocks, and 
then fled up the mountainside on its solitary way. 

“ How still it is,” said Ben, to whom the silence 
felt irksome. 

“ I was marking that, lad, I was. There be omi- 
nous signs in these missing notes. It is not natur’. 
The silence be man-trod. To me there is no music 


94 


WITH ROGERS ’ RANGERS 


like the sounds that break the stillness o’ the night 
in the woods. I’ve listened oft to the vespers 
chanted by the whippoorwills, when they knew not 
a human ear was nigh; and, if there be a mourn- 
fulness in the song, there is yet a freedom that does 
not prevail in the songs o’ human life. Then there 
is the owl, doling out a yet more dismal monotone. 
You may not like it, but to me there is a grander 
sweep than comes from the toil-strung regrets that 
cannot be set to music. How oft have I pieced out 
their broken parts until the whole made a full string, 
I swan it did. It may have all been the fancy work 
o’ a brain grown foolish in its loneliness, but this 
was what they doled forth over and again: First, 
a big fellow in the top o’ the sycamore bawled out, 
‘To woe! to woe!' Another, near by, breaks 
forth, ‘We go! we go!' Then a great doubter 
cries, ‘Who? who?' Then, just as I expect, I swan, 
another bawls, ‘Who? you!' And then up pipes 
a leetle feller way off, ‘ Leetle wit! leetle wit!' 
So I pick up the ravelled cries and read, as if writ 
in a book : ‘Of leetle wit, to woe we go — you ! ’ 

“ There may be leetle wisdom to the croakings o’ 
the half-blind owl, and now I come to trail the 
thought, I find it may be so, but what could be more 
fitting to the blighted sycamore that is its nateral 
home, and the signless swamp that is its kingdom? 
Coming at the hour o’ twilight, atween the light 


b 

VOICES OF THE NIGHT 95 

o' the world and natur’, on the threshold o’ two 
days, that o’ man and beast, they seemed like the 
spectres o’ unsatisfied souls. By sunlight their cries 
would be sadly out o’ j’int, by night nothing else 
could be so in tune. Natur’ does not miss in her 
jedgment. 

4 4 Aweel, here I be preaching a sarmon, when it 
would be more consistent with the puppose in hand 
if I took a wink o’ sleep, while you be the eagle. 
Don’t let the ol’ man sleep overlong, for there be 
lively amazements coming.” 

With these words the forester lay down by the 
edge of the growth on that side nearest to the preci- 
pice overhanging the shore of the lake, though close 
by the door of the stone house. In a brief while 
to all appearances he was sleeping soundly. 


CHAPTER IX. 


TWICE-TOLD TALES 

The Sergeant was resting quietly by his side, 
though with every canine sense strained to do his 
duty, as Ben well knew, while the young Ranger 
maintained his lonely vigil. Yes, it was lonely, 
though just within the stone dwelling were friends. 
And within touch of his hand slept as peacefully as 
a child might upon a bed of down the Woodranger 
on his couch of uncarpeted rock. Twice he saw 
the rugged countenance light up as if illuminated 
by the spiritual lamp, and the bearded lips moved, 
the name of “ Mary ” escaping them by stealth. 
Then, as if feeling guilty for what they had done, 
his lips closed tightly, and his breath came with deep 
tension, as if it were fighting a battle with some 
invisible power. 

At that moment the door was swung open, and 
Indian Plume appeared upon its threshold. She 
did not speak, but she gazed carefully around, and, 
seeing Ben and the Sergeant at their posts, she 
seemed satisfied. At any rate, she returned into the 
building, though she left the door slightly ajar. 

96 


TWICE-TOLD TALES 


97 


Perhaps it was warm within the structure, or it 
may be she wished to keep in closer companionship 
with those without. The answer did not trouble 
Ben, who was thinking of keener interests. He was 
wondering if Philip and Stark had reached John- 
son’s camp, and how this raid of the French would 
terminate. Baron Dieskau, its leader, he had been 
told was a born fighter. He was trying to solve the 
conclusion to the situation in his own mind, when 
the voice of the young man he had helped to rescue 
on the lake reached his ears, saying, as if in reply 
to some question which had been asked him : 

“ My name is Alexander Briant, and mother and 
I have come a long way to get here. It seems like 
a dream to me-, only a horrible dream I do not like 
to recall. Our home was in a country of which 
you may never have heard, Acadia. We were 
very happy, mother and father and sister and I, 
though we knew trouble had been brewing for a 
long time. It was the same old trouble between 
the English and the French. Father and mother 
both came from Scotland, and they tried not to 
mix up in the affair, but it was impossible to keep 
clear. The French claimed that father favoured 
the English, and the latter made a countercharge 
against him. One night we were surprised by a 
band of men disguised as Indians, with some In- 
dians among them; our home was burned, sister 


98 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


and her husband driven away we know not where, 
father shot down before our own eyes, and mother 
and I taken off on a boat. We were finally put 
on board of a ship going to Quebec, and from that 
town we were sent up the St. Lawrence to Mon- 
treal. Then we managed to escape, and in our dis- 
tress, having an opportunity to do so in company 
with a regiment of French soldiers, decided to go 
to New England, where we have friends and rela- 
tives. But on the way here we again fell into 
trouble, were attacked by a party of Mohawk In- 
dians, and at last, wounded and hopeless, found 
ourselves adrift in a canoe upon the lake. You 
know how we were rescued, for you were the one 
to bring it about.” 

“ Alex hasn’t told it half as awful as it was,” 
said Mrs. Briant. “ No one could. I fear a bitter 
day is coming for poor Acadia, and that many 
others will suffer fates even worse than our own . 1 
How I wish I knew what had befallen my poor 
daughter. My unfortunate husband was shot down 
before my eyes on that terrible night, — as if I had 
not already suffered enough. But it would be un- 
just to repine, for there were many pleasant years 

1 The clearness with which Mrs. Briant realized the situation is 
proven by the fact that within a few days of this very evening that 
deportation of the people of Acadia was undertaken, when so many 
peaceful homes were broken and quiet lives made unhappy. — 
Author, 


TWICE-TOLD TALES 


99 


that we enjoyed our home by the shores of Minas 
Basin.” 

“ They were happy years, mother, and we will 
hope that Mabel has escaped, even as we have. We 
should be thankful for that, though I feel deeply 
grieved for poor father.” 

“ True, my son, we have reason to rejoice. But 
here we are telling our own sorrows and adven- 
tures, while I am sure this friend of ours, who is 
doing so much for us, has a stranger story to tell, 
and it may be one of greater suffering.” 

“ I was thinking of that, mother. And now, 
Miss Indian Plume, if it is not asking too much, 
will you tell us the story of your life? How is it 
we find you living here in this wild country alone 
and for no reason that is known to us. I am sure 
yours must be no uncommon story.” 

Before replying to Alex’s rather fervid request, 
she went to the door, where she stood for several 
minutes peering out into the night, with its silent 
halls and star-diamonded roof. When she returned, 
she took a seat near the mother and son, saying : 

“ I have never told my story to any one. This 
may be because I have never had any one to tell it 
to. It may be what you call a strange story. I, 
who know so little of the world, cannot tell. It 
seems to me like the day and the night, things I 


toFa 


IOO 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


cannot understand, and, like them, it is both bright 
and dark. 

“ I can remember when we did not live here, 
father and mother and I, for we were together then. 
We lived among the Mohawks, in a big wigwam 
by ourselves. Mother, you know, or may not know, 
was a Mohawk princess. It is still claimed among 
her people that she was a daughter of the white 
Maniteau , 1 whose people lived far to the south. 
Her skin was as the snow, and her hair the colour 
of the sunlight as it played upon the sands of the 
Horican. Her life was very lonely until one day, 
in her wanderings through the leafy greenwood 
which she loved so well, she met a strange youth, 
who said he came from a tribe of men living far 


1 There was a tradition among the Mohawks of such a person as 
Indian Plume described, and she was known as the “ White Maiden.” 
She also was known as the “ Spirit of the Kaaterskill,” and to this 
day her image is pointed out in one of the many waterfalls that are 
to be seen in that land. Pursued by her enemies while escaping 
with her lover, she leaped from a high precipice to what she believed 
to be death, rather than return to her lodge without him. But the 
Great Spirit was kind to her, and she was not harmed by her dizzy 
leap, as he caused a torrent of water to spring from the dry rock, 
and bear her down the declivity unharmed. More than even that, 
he made to appear in the new-found cascade of waters her lifelike 
image, which remains there now as a perpetual reminder that she 
was deserving of his protection. The Mohawks, upon finding her 
snowy figure transfixed in the silvery flood gently covering the 
rough rock, knew she was the especial favourite of the Great Spirit, 
and they abandoned their pursuit, believing at first she had perished 
in her mad leap over the cliff. — Author. 


TWICE-TOLD TALES 


IOI 


toward the rising sun. They soon became very 
happy in each other’s company, and day by day 
they were wont to meet by the bank of the singing 
river, and plight their vows of constancy. When 
the Mohawk warriors learned of the White Maid’s 
secret, they were very angry, and she was not al- 
lowed to leave the lodge to meet her lover again. 
But if she could not go to him, he found a way to 
come to her. Cunningly disguised as a Mohawk 
warrior, he boldly entered the lodge, and so well 
did he act his part that he soon became her watcher. 
In the darkness of the night they fled, and she 
would never have returned, escaping by the kindly 
help of the good Maniteau, had not the Mohawks 
seen their error, and, feeling their loneliness with- 
out her, sent for her and her husband to come and 
dwell with them in love and peace. 

“ One child was born to them, my mother. She 
was very beautiful. A strange man with a white 
skin and a tongue that sounded unusual to their 
ears sought to make her his wife. I cannot tell you 
much of the story of my father. Perhaps it is 
better that I cannot. I loved him, for he was good 
to mother and me. And when she saw that it was 
making him unhappy to dwell among her people, 
whom he could not understand, she told him she 
was willing to go anywhere he wished. Then he 
caused to be builded this beautiful dwelling, making 


102 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


it strong enough to defy the winds of the tempest 
and the arrows of warriors. It may be mother 
pined for the old life, as she soon faded and went 
away, leaving father and me alone. 

“ It was a hard blow for him, and he did not seem 
like himself afterward, though he was kinder to 
me than ever. He taught me from the few books 
that he had, and, what was better, he taught me 
from his own wonderful store of knowledge. He 
told me much of the world that lay out of sight 
of our humble home, until I longed for the wings 
of the bird that I might fly away. I think he saw 
that I was beginning to wish for some other life, — 
a wider sphere in which to live, — for he grew 
thoughtful day by day, until I came to worry about 
him. Then he would take me upon his knee, and, 
stroking my hair, kiss me and fold me closer to 
his breast, declaring that nothing should separate 
us. 

“ In spite of his outward cheerfulness, I could 
see that some secret sorrow was eating away his 
happiness. How I longed to gain his complete 
confidence, for what is the love of a person if you 
do not have his confidence? But I would never 
murmur if I could only have it all back just as it 
was on that afternoon two years ago, when he bade 
me a light-hearted good-bye, kissed me as he had 
so many times before, and saying he would be back 


TWICE-TOLD TALES 


103 


in a couple of hours, or by sunset, he went down 
to the water’s edge and stepped into his canoe. I 
watched him as he paddled away, until lost to sight 
behind a corner of the rocky shore. That parting 
glimpse was the last I saw of him! 

“ I will not try to describe my grief and anxiety, 
while I waited for him all that livelong night, and 
the days and nights that followed. I watched, I 
cried, and I waited in vain.” 

“ And you have never seen him since ? ” asked 
Alex, with deep interest. 

“No. I had nowhere to go, and so I have 
stayed here, hoping, hoping poor father would come 
back to me sometime.” 

“ Your story is sadder than ours, Indian Plume. 
How lonesome you must have been! Has no one 
been here to see you ? ” 

“ Only the Mohawks. They have been very kind 
to me, but they could not induce me to go with them 
to live.” 

“ Poor child ! ” said Mrs. Briant. “ When we 
go away, you shall go with us to live, though it 
is little we have to offer.” 

Indian Plume shook her head sorrowfully, going 
again to the door to look out at the rugged scene 
around the stone house. 

Though Ben had not to any great extent neglected 
his duty, he had been so absorbed in the strange 


104 


WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 


story being told by Indian Plume that for the time 
he had forgotten his environments. But now he 
turned back to his watch, and to a realization of his 
situation. Intuitively he looked toward the Wood- 
ranger, or the spot which the sleeping forester had 
occupied a moment before, to discover now to his 
surprise that he had disappeared! 

Whither he had gone or how was beyond his 
understanding, but the scout was nowhere to be 
seen within the little enclosure that marked the en- 
trance to the stone house. He was certainly missing, 
but Ben rubbed his eyes and looked again before 
he could credit the discovery of his own gaze. 

The Sergeant was still at his post, and so quiet 
that he seemed a part of the rock upon which he 
lay. While Ben was somewhat reassured over his 
presence, a swift change came over the animal as 
he watched him. The ears suddenly lifted, the 
muzzle was thrust slightly forward, and the eyes 
took on an uncommon brightness. 

Something had occurred to awaken the dog’s 
suspicions, though not a telltale sound had reached 
the ears of the young Ranger. Lowering his voice 
to a whisper, Ben asked : 

“What is it, Sergeant?” 


CHAPTER X. 


AN HOUR OF PERIL 

In reply to the young Ranger’s question, Sergeant 
lifted his head slightly, and his nose was turned 
toward the shore of the lake at their feet. His 
gaze was now fixed intently upon the space leading 
downward, as if he was looking for some one. 
Ben’s firearm had been beside him all of the time, 
and now he noiselessly raised the weapon, pushing 
the hammer back in silence, determined to be ready 
for whomever or whatever might come. He had 
not to wait long before his strained hearing de- 
tected a slight sound coming from the brink of the 
precipice where the hemlocks hung like a fringe 
from the scanty support of the thin layer of earth 
covering the rock. 

Ben’s first thought was that it was the Wood- 
ranger coming back, but this idea had barely shaped 
itself in his mind before he saw the Sergeant crouch 
to the rock as if drawn down by some mighty but 
invisible power. The twin rows of white teeth 
glistened between the hairy lips, and the eyes 
snapped like coals of fire. 

I0 5 


106 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

Then, while the dog watched and waited, and 
the young Ranger dared not take a long breath for 
fear of breaking the terrible spell, a tuft of coal- 
black hair appeared above the rim of rock, and the 
sinister visage of a Huron warrior was thrust into 
sight ! 

It was a moment of terror to Ben, who had never 
seen such a sight before, though he had met the 
Indians often in his day. But this painted, hideous 
countenance, with its blazing eyes and ebony crest 
that lent a wild, unnatural fierceness to the grim 
face underneath , 1 coming in that silent, mysterious 
way at that time and place, for a moment unnerved 
him. 

The bravest are not always in full command of 
themselves, and Ben was not a coward. Thus he 
swiftly overcame his weakness, if it was such, and 
he was about to bring his musket to bear upon the 
savage, who had swiftly risen so his shoulders ap- 
peared above the ledge, when the Sergeant lifted 
his agile form into the air, shooting past the young 
Ranger like a cannon-ball. Straight toward the 
doomed red man he sped, and just as the surprised 
warrior began to utter his war-whoop of terror, 

*The Huron Indians had a practice of wearing their black, 
coarse hair in an upright crest, which gave them an exceedingly 
fierce aspect, and won for them from the French the term of la 
hure, from which came the name by which they have since been 
known, “Huron.” — Author. 


AN HOUR OF PERIL 


107 


the sharp teeth of the dog fastened themselves in 
his neck. 

The struggle that followed was short and sharp. 
The Indian tried in vain to defend himself, but his 
very attempt to seize upon the creature tugging at 
his throat caused him to lose his hold upon the side 
of the rock and scanty growth of stunted trees. He 
reeled back with a guttural cry of pain, and would 
have toppled into the depths below had not Ser- 
geant pulled him forward upon the brink of the 
rock, where his lifeless body hung when the dog 
had released his deadly hold. 

It had all taken place so quickly and unexpectedly 
that Ben was still wondering over what was being 
done, as Sergeant stepped back to his post as un- 
concerned as if nothing unusual had happened. As 
the dog dropped again at full length on the rock, 
Ben looked anxiously around, half-expecting to see 
a circle of swarthy faces and black plumes rise from 
the sides of the declivity. 

If happily disappointed in this respect, he had 
barely finished his hasty survey when the report 
of a firearm rang out with marked clearness on 
the still evening air. 

The sharp, ringing sound was borne up to him 
from the bottom of the cliff, and he quickly decided 
that it came from the weapon of the Woodranger. 
With rapt attention he listened for further indica- 


108 WITH ROGERS * RANGERS 

tion of what was transpiring below him, but a death- 
like silence succeeded the shot. 

In the midst of his suspense Indian Plume reap- 
peared in the doorway, and simultaneously with her 
coming the clear note of a bugle-horn prolonged 
with a peculiar tremolo, as if the player was loath 
to end his blast. 

Ben recognized this as coming from the horn 
carried by the forester, and he knew, moreover, 
that it was a warning of peril. But even if such, 
it brought him a temporary feeling of relief, for 
he knew his friend was near at hand and watch- 
ful. 

“ What is that firing for? ” asked Indian Plume. 
“ Are the Hurons around ? ” 

Then, before Ben could reply, a volley of shots 
rang on the air, and half a dozen bullets whistled 
about the head of the maid, some rattling against 
the stone wall of her dwelling and others coming 
nearer. 

With a cry of alarm, she sprang back into the 
building and closed the heavy door. 

The young Ranger, thinking he was about to be 
overwhelmed by the enemies who had fairly sur- 
rounded him, dropped flat upon the rock, and pre- 
pared to defend himself as best he could. He was 
none too soon, for the next moment a dozen dusky 


AN HOUR OF PERIL 10 $ 

foemen leaped into the opening, with wild yells 
of triumph upon their lips. 

One of the Hurons leaped forward so close to 
him that Ben was forced to defend himself by send- 
ing a shot pointblank at the half-naked form of 
the red man, who outstretched his arms in an at- 
tempt to grapple hand to hand with him. 

The fire was at such close proximity that the 
young Ranger could not fail to hit his living tar- 
get, and, with a wild cry of defiance that was lost, 
the Huron threw up his arms and sank upon the 
rock. As his weapon was a single-barrelled one, 
Ben quickly began to reload, ramming down the 
charge of powder with such haste as he could com- 
mand. But as he was dropping the bullet down 
the long throat of the old queen’s arm, the Indians 
attacked him in a body, their wild yells making the 
night Jiideous. 

That was a moment and a scene Ben Browne 
never forgot. The horrible visages of the Hurons 
danced before him like so many fiends, and his first 
thought was to leap from the top of the crag into 
the rocky depths below, thinking it better to perish 
thus than to fall into the hands of the dusky demons 
thirsting for his blood. 

Fortunately he stood his ground. No sooner had 
the piece of lead rattled down to the powder than, 
without stopping to follow it with a wad, he fired 


no 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


at the nearest savage, just as a volley of bullets 
flew past him. At the same time a shot rang out 
from one of the openings in the wall of the house, 
and a second red man went down to rise no more. 
And already the faithful and valiant Sergeant had 
charged upon the enemy, springing from one to 
another with lightning-like rapidity and deadly 
effect. No less than four fell under his swift and 
terrible attacks, while a second shot from Indian 
Plume was sent on its fatal mission. 

In the midst of this stirring scene, just as the 
young Ranger was clubbing his gun to meet the 
Indians in a hand-to-hand combat, the clarion note 
of the Woodranger’s bugle rang on the scene, and 
the report of his unerring firearm speedily followed. 
Then the coonskin cap of the forester appeared 
above the rim of rock near the path, and his body 
followed, while his stentorian voice cried : 

“ Down with the painted pagans ! ” 

This attack caused the Hurons to believe that 
they were beset by foes on every hand, and sent 
the survivors headlong from the narrow scene of 
action. 

Indian Plume, from her vantage, seeing that the 
red men had been temporarily routed, swung ajar 
the door, and called upon the scouts to enter the 
house. 

Believing that such discretion was the better part 


AN HOUR OF PERIL 


III 


of valour, Ben quickly did as he was requested. But 
seeing that the Woodranger did not show any in- 
clination to follow, he called out to him: 

“Aren’t you coming in, Woodranger?” 

The young Ranger could have bitten off his 
tongue for speaking the name, as no sooner had 
he uttered it than he realized the mistake he had 
made in his forgetfulness. Though it was too late 
to recall it, he hoped no one had noticed the name 
he had spoken. The reply of the forester was 
prompt, and it gave no indication that he had ob- 
served the blunder: 

“ Nay, lad, it be discretionary for you to find 
kiver, but the o T man had better perambulate about 
a bit.” 

“If you are not coming in, I am — ” 

“To kiver ! ” fairly shouted the scout, and In- 
dian Plume, alive to the situation, closed the door 
in the midst of Ben’s speech. 

The action was none too quick to save his life, 
for the bolt had not slipped into its socket before 
three or four bullets buried themselves in the 
wood. 

“ The Indians have returned to the attack ! ” cried 
Indian Plume, springing to one of the apertures that 
answered both for window and loophole. 

Renewed outbursts of frenzied fury came from 
the assailants, and when Ben had reached another 


112 


WITH ROGERS ' RANGERS 


“ window,” he saw a war-party of the Hurons re- 
appearing upon the scene. But, greatly to his mis- 
givings, he looked in vain for the Woodranger or 
the Sergeant. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE CALL OF THE BUGLE 

If Ben was at first alarmed over the disappear- 
ance of the Woodranger and Sergeant, upon second 
thought he realized that it was better so. No doubt 
they had been able to escape the enemy, and were 
at that moment concealed near by in safety so long 
as they remained quiet. At any rate, he could do 
no better than to accept this idea. 

“ The Hurons are getting more cautious,” said 
Indian Plume from her post. “ They will be care- 
ful how they expose themselves to our fire.” 

“ Oh, if I could only help you,” said Alex Briant. 
“ I must try and do — ” 

Indian Plume checked his speech with a wave 
of her hand. 

“ We do very well,” she said. “ Hurons not 
many in sight.” 

“ How many?” asked Alex, anxiously. 

“ I count ten. There may be others out of sight.” 

“ Ten against two, and one a woman.” 

“ Woman fight sometime well as man. My 
mother once battled with twenty Hurons all day,” 


1 14 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

she replied. “ She had taken her place behind a 
big rock in a narrow pass, and all the Hurons that 
came could not drive her away until father save 
her. Poor mother! her fate was a sad one, and 
I cannot think of it — ” 

A volley of shots from the enemy at that moment 
drowned her words, while she shrank back with a 
low cry of terror. But the shower of lead made 
no impression upon the stone walls around them. 

“ It is as good as a fortress,” said Indian Plume. 
“ Father built it so it might be our fort of safety 
in case of an attack by foes.” 

“Have you ever been attacked here before?” 
asked Ben. 

“ Once, when he was here, and it looked for a 
time as if we were lost, but a biting storm set in, 
and that, more than our shots, caused the enemies 
to withdraw. Ha! they are going to beat down 
the door ! ” 

“ We must not let them reach it,” declared Ben. 
“ A few shots from us will serve to let them know 
we are alive.” 

Indian Plume quickly took the hint, and the re- 
port of her gun blended with that of the young 
Ranger’s musket, when there were two Indians less 
to continue the warfare against them. Howls of 
rage followed the death-cries of this twain, speaking 
of the vindictiveness of the survivors. 


THE CALL OF THE BUGLE 1 1 5 

Mrs. Briant, who had not spoken since the com- 
ing of Ben, now gave expression to feelings of 
horror. 

“ We have brought this upon them, Alex/’ she 
said. “ Oh, that this horrible war might end. We 
shall all be killed.” 

“ I do not believe, mother, there is such danger. 
This building is well fitted for a defence. If I 
could only lend a hand, I should not be so uneasy.” 

A silence had fallen upon the dusky throng out- 
side, which had withdrawn to one side of the open- 
ing, and seemed to be holding a council of war. 

“ They talk to see what to do,” said Indian 
Plume. “ We have rest for a little time.” 

Ben was watching the party closely, wondering 
while he did so where the Woodranger was at that 
moment. Had the scout escaped without being 
harmed, and what would he do? 

While the young Ranger was intently watching 
the exciting scene, anxious to know what the next 
act might be, he became aware of the fact that a 
commotion was taking place at one side of the clear- 
ing under a clump of hemlocks overhanging the 
steep pathway leading to the shore of the lake. 
The savages seemed to be in ignorance of anything 
unusual transpiring, while one of their number 
seemed to be haranguing them and pointing ex- 
citedly toward the stone house. In the midst of 


II 6 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

his fiery speech, as Ben knew it must be from his 
gesticulations, a bright orb of light suddenly burst 
upon view at the place mentioned. It looked to 
the watchers, for Indian Plume was no less atten- 
tive to this side acting than the young Ranger, as 
if a ball of fire had been lifted above the edge of 
the cliff to the height of a very tall man. And 
then, lighted with vivid distinctness by its glare, 
arose into view the figure of a huge person clothed 
in skins from head to foot. Either hand held a 
flaming brand, while from eyes, nostrils, and mouth 
streamed rays of fire and clouds of smoke. 

The uncanny figure had scarcely risen into sight, 
when a shriek was sent up that made the watchers in 
the dwelling turn pale with horror. The effect upon 
the Hurons would have been ludicrous if it had not 
been so serious. Discovering the wild-looking form 
approaching them only when its unearthly yell broke 
on the night, the Indians suddenly became spell- 
bound. The last word died into a husky whisper 
that the orator was speaking, when he suddenly 
lost his boastful tone, and with a wild cry of terror 
turned and fled from the scene! 

The followers of the Huron chief quickly proved 
that they were willing to imitate his example in 
one respect at least, and, as the unnatural figure, 
with its fiery orbs of light and its fiendish yells, 
advanced, the Indians retreated pell-mell down the 


THE CALL OF THE BUGLE 1 1 7 

declivity. It is not known just how the majority 
of them made their exit from the scene, but it is 
quite certain the most of them reached the bottom 
of the ascent with a great deal more speed than care. 

The inmates of the stone house laughed outright, 
in spite of the seriousness of their situation, while 
the strange enemy of the red men followed them 
down the descent, soon disappearing from the sight 
of those in the dwelling. 

Finding that they were pursued, the Hurons, 
who had fallen in heaps and were smarting with 
pain, picked themselves up and fled for the shore, 
while those who had been more fortunate in their 
flight now led the way for them. Never, it is safe 
to say, did a dozen or more warriors beat a more 
inglorious retreat, or scramble into their boats with 
greater celerity. 

Their pursuer did not stop until he stood ankle- 
deep in the warm, limpid flood of the Horican, and 
then, as he watched the receding shadows of his 
victims fading from his view, a low chuckle issued 
from an orifice lower than the flaming features, 
and dropping the burning brands from his grasp, 
he sank down upon a rock near at hand, apparently 
satisfied with his work. 

Meanwhile the occupants of the Lookout began 
to breathe easier, while they listened to the sounds 
of the fleeing foes. 


1 1 8 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

“ They are taking to their canoes,” said Ben. 
“ See ! there they go out over the lake. It is too 
dark for me to be certain, but I think they have 
all fled.” 

“ Who could that strange creature have been who 
frightened them so?” asked Indian Plume. 

“ He was certainly a friend in need and in good 
time.” 

When five minutes had passed without any new 
development, the occupants of the Lookout began 
to relax their vigilance, and Indian Plume sought 
the side of the wounded couple, while Ben kept 
up a close watch over their surroundings. 

“ Have the Indians given up their attack ? ” asked 
Alex. 

“ Yes. How is my brother feeling?” 

“ Better, Indian Plume. What an odd name ! 
Haven’t you got another that I may use ? ” 

“ Nobody ever found fault with that before,” 
she replied. “ It seems very appropriate for me, 
too. Indian Plume is the name of a scarlet flower 
that blooms by the brooks and water shores in early 
autumn. I plucked yesterday the first one I have 
seen this season, and I placed it in my hair. Long 
moons ago, when the quick death sought its own, 
it took a young brave who was loved by a Mohawk 
maid. She plead vainly for the medicine-men to 
save him. The sky was set with the sign of rage 


THE CALL OF THE BUGLE II9 

against the race, and the greatest and wisest knew 
all must perish unless the wrath of Maniteau was 
overcome by the giving of a life. But that life 
must be pure and without an enemy. The sachem 
told his people the message he had read in the smoke 
that rose from his wigwam fire, and in the sounds 
that came from the trees smiting themselves to- 
gether. But it was known to be no easy thing to 
find such a person as was demanded for the offering, 
and the chiefs looked without finding one who could 
save them. The blight was still upon the people. 
No warrior was strong enough to grapple with it 
as he could with the bear, or the cunning Huron. 

“ The lodgment was in despair, when the maid 
who had lost her lover entered the council-house 
and offered herself as the sacrifice. ‘lama blighted 
flower/ she said, ‘ and I trust I have no enemies/ 
And they searched without finding one who had 
aught against her, and it was found that her life 
was spotless. So she died for her people, and was 
buried by the side of her lover, near the brook where 
they had strayed so oft. The quick death was 
driven away, and from her grave sprang up the 
bright flower to be called ‘ Indian Plume/ keeping 
fresh her memory and sorrow. I have made no 
such sacrifice, but the Mohawks began to call me 
Indian Plume when I was small, and the name has 
clung to me ever since/’ 


120 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ I like it better, now I know its origin,” said 
Alex. “ I can see that it is an emblem of sacrifice 
and unselfishness. I think it very aptly applied.” 

“ Didn’t I hear you call the name of ‘ Wood- 
ranger?’” asked Mrs. Briant, speaking to Ben, as 
the latter turned to join the little group. 

The question came so suddenly and unexpectedly 
that for a moment it quite took away Ben’s power 
of speech. He remembered his promise to the for- 
ester, and regretted that he had committed such a 
mistake. He tried to think of some way to remedy 
the evil he had done. He saw, too, that Alex was 
all attention, and he quickly added: 

“ I heard him, mother ! It must be the man we 
are looking for.” 

“ A man by that odd name is an old friend of 
ours,” exclaimed Mrs. Briant, seeing Ben’s hesita- 
tion. “ At least he was a friend to my son. I did 
not see him then, but I have reason to think he 
was a very dear friend of mine in my earlier life.” 

“ We are all Rangers,” stammered Ben. “ You 
know that is the name given to the men under 
Captain Rogers. I am a Ranger — a wood- 
ranger ! ” 

Mrs. Briant, who Ben could see was not satis- 
fied with his answer, was about to speak, when a 
clear note, wound on the same horn which had 
aroused the fugitives once before, fell on their ears. 


After a short pause, this was repeated twice, when 
it was heard no more. 

“ It’s the Wood — Taconica calling to me ! ” de- 
clared Ben, biting his tongue to think he should 
have made the mistake which he was even then try- 
ing to explain away. 


CHAPTER XII. 

AN EXCITING RACE 

“ How do you know that it is your friend call- 
ing to you ? ” asked Indian Plume, as Ben started 
toward the door, anxious to escape any further 
questioning on the part of the others concerning the 
identity of the scout. He realized that it was dif- 
ficult to break away from an old habit, and he had 
become so used to speaking of him as the Wood- 
ranger, it was little wonder he had committed the 
mistake a second time. 

“ I should know the sound of that horn among 
a hundred,” he replied to the maid. “ And the old 
Ranger has a regular code by which he uses it. If 
he hadn’t wanted me to come to him he would have 
given only two notes. I do not think there is any 
danger. The Hurons have evidently all gone 
away.” 

“ Be careful,” admonished Mrs. Briant. “ When 
you come back, I want to speak more fully of this 
friend of yours. Something tells me he is the 
friend I have looked for so long.” 

Without more delay Ben opened the door, and, 
122 


AN EXCITING RACE 1^3 

while Indian Plume stood by so as to close it the 
moment he had passed out, he stepped forth into 
the night. 

Light, fleecy clouds were moving sluggishly 
across the sky as if they realized that they had the 
whole night in which to perform their flying trip, 
but it was still clear enough for him to see the 
forms of the dead Hurons lying under the edge of 
the hemlocks skirting the little opening. As his 
gaze ran over the scene, it fell upon a brighter 
object, which was nothing less than the form of 
the faithful Sergeant stretched at full length by his 
post of duty, as watchful as ever. 

The dog pricked up his ears as Ben appeared, and 
he looked toward him with evident pleasure. 

“ Good Sergeant,” greeted the young Ranger, in 
a low tone, “ I am glad you escaped their bullets.” 

Sergeant lifted his head a little higher at the 
sound of his voice, but he did not offer to leave his 
position. 

Judging from the direction of the bugle-notes 
that the Woodranger was at the foot of the cliff, 
Ben lost no time in descending the rocky pathway 
winding down to the shore of the lake. As he de- 
scended below the border of hemlocks and came 
into plainer sight of the water glistening in the dis- 
tance, he discovered the tall form of the Wood- 
ranger standing by the great gnarled roots of the 


124 


With Rogers' rangers 


giant pine. The forester had already seen him, and, 
in his low, cautious tone, he said : 

“ It does these oY eyes good to look on you, lad. 
I jedge there be no uncommon amazement in the 
rock castle up yon ? ” 

“ None whatever, Woodranger, thanks to you — 
to you and the Sergeant.” 

“The Sergeant, lad? You do well to speak o’ 
him. He was worth any dozen o’ men, and I’m no 
more forgetful o’ Rogers hisself. He did good 
work, and he has gone back to his post.” 

“ But it was really that wild-looking creature in 
skins and fire that frightened the reds away. I ex- 
pect it was you, Woodranger.” 

“ Silence, it may be, previcates the truth. I will 
ne’er dissemble. ’Twere a bungling ’fair, — a few 
skins plucked from their own boat, some punkwood 
picked on the shore o’ the Horican, and a screech a 
painter may have been ashamed to trail. Let that 
be, lad. I opine the brown-faces will ne’er double 
on their track afore morning. Then, too, without 
claiming to be a prophet, it may be they and their 
kin, with the Frinchers, have all they can ketch and 
hoi’ at the end o’ the Horican.” 

“ What can we do, Woodranger ? I am supposed 
to report at camp as soon as I have completed my 
scout.” 

“ I can read that sign, but is it discretionary for 


AN EXCITING RACE 


125 


you to do so as the stick floats ? There be personal 
p’ints in this amazement which riffle the jedgment 
as rocks split and tangle the waters o’ some noisy 
brook. Are they — the lad and the woman — mind 
you, I do not wish to meddle in ’fairs that ne’er 
cross my path — are they able to perambulate from 
here?” 

“ They are not, Woodranger. At least, the 
woman could not do so unless she were carried.” 

“ I do not previcate the truth when I say that I 
opined as much. Is it discretionary for ’em to tarry 
here alone, and I’m not unmindful o’ the purty lass 
that habits here ? ” 

“ It would not be right for us to desert them at 
this critical time.” 

“ Jes’ the sign I picked up, lad, I swan it is. You 
may be needed at the camp, lad ; I ne’er blame you 
for looking that way. It is the way a true soldier 
should look. Now let me trail a thought. In this 
narrow path one can well keep half a hundred 
Hurons at bay, and an ol’ man may be — mind you, 
I say this with proper discretion — may be as good 
for sich work as the young and nimble. So do you 
take that canoe there and get to Johnson’s camp as 
soon as may be. Tell him what you have picked 
up. It may unravel a skein for him. The ol’ man 
will tarry here, and watch out for the inemy as the 
ol’ eagle watches for its young.” 


126 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

“ But that seems like deserting you when I am 
needed.” 

“ Ne’er fear but the ol’ man will stand up to his 
post. If you are gone overlong he will not shirk 
his duty. Mebbe you had better trail the idee with 
’em in the house, and, mind you, they are ne’er to 
leave their post so long as I am here. Do you trail 
that thought, lad? ” 

“ I do, Woodranger. If you think it is the best 
plan I will hasten to them at once, with this under- 
standing.” 

“ Aweel, now’s me, lad, I ne’er dissemble the 
truth. It may be risky — ” 

In the midst of his speech, as if it had suddenly 
occurred to him that his meaning might be mis- 
construed, he hastened to say: 

“ I mean — that is, I read — nay, lad, how my 
ol’ tongue stumbles, like a river that has been 
trigged. I — there be personal p’ints in this 
amazement. Go, lad, go! afore you see the ol’ 
man commit some blameful indiscretion. Tell 
’em to stay under kiver, and there’ll be no brown- 
faces climbing yon rocky path. But make ’em 
swear to this, lad, on their honour.” 

Ben, noticing that the Woodranger was under 
some powerful influence which might be govern- 
ing his words, promised all he asked, and the next 


AN EXCITING RACE 


127 


moment was climbing hastily the way to the Look- 
out. 

He found the three occupants anxiously awaiting 
his return, and in a few words he explained the 
necessity, as he felt, of returning to the camp, and 
also the promise of the Woodranger to remain on 
duty at the foot of the cliff until he could come 
back with the others to take them away from the 
place if they desired to go. He was careful not 
to mention the name of the Woodranger, speaking 
of him simply as an old scout, who was sure to do 
all he undertook. 

“ I wish we could see him for a few minutes,” 
said Mrs. Briant. “ It would be better for all 
concerned.” 

Ben evaded this request, and after exacting a 
pledge from Indian Plume not to leave the dwell- 
ing until she should be requested to do so, he 
stood ready to bid them good-bye. 

“ I will accept your terms,” said the maid, “ upon 
the condition I be allowed to use my discretion 
after three days.” 

“ I will be back with companions before that 
time,” replied Ben, little dreaming what he was 
to go through in that time. 

With the sincere godspeed of the three ringing 
in his ears, Ben left the house, Indian Plume fol- 
lowing him to the door, where she stood until he 


128 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


had passed out of sight. But the young Ranger 
did not go directly on his way, or this tale might 
have had a different ending. It happens some- 
times that matters of seemingly trivial importance 
become powerful factors in shaping future affairs. 
Thus it is always well for us to look carefully 
after the performance of little duties, as they go 
so far in making up the sum and substance of suc- 
cess in life. 

As Ben stepped out into the night scene, the 
Sergeant, still at his post, rose to his feet and 
turned about to look longingly toward him. Hav- 
ing a strong liking for the intelligent animal, as 
every one who knew him did have, the young 
Ranger crossed the opening to his side, and, patting 
him on his head, said gently: 

“ Noble old Sergeant, I do not believe there is 
any need for you to stay here longer. The enemy 
have gone.” 

Then the faithful dog licked his hand, and mur- 
mured his pleasure in his way, and wagged his 
tail with evident delight. So, when Ben started 
down the path, Sergeant followed him unopposed. 

“ I do not like this way of leaving you, Wood- 
ranger,” said Ben, as he approached the canoe, 
“ but it seems all that I can do. But I promise to 
return as soon as possible to relieve you.” 

“ Ne’er worrit o’er the ol’ man. He has a bit o’ 


AN EXCITING RACE 


129 


dried meat in his wallet, and a goodish stock o' 
powder and ball. So follow your trail, lad, and 
let no wanton indiscretion cross your path.” 

Clasping the hand of the Woodr anger for a 
moment, Ben then pushed the canoe out into the 
deeper water and sprang in. A minute later he 
was speeding lightly away from the rocky shore 
over the trackless path leading to his destination. 
Looking back for a last glance at the forester, he 
was surprised to find that Sergeant had entered 
the water, and was swimming closely in his wake. 

“Go back, Sergeant!” he said. “You must 
stay with the Woodranger.” 

This seemed far from the intention of the dog, 
and for the first time Sergeant showed an utter 
disregard for a command given him. If anything, 
he swam faster than before upon the course of the 
canoe. Finding that he could not make him go 
back, Ben called for the Woodranger to speak to 
him, thinking he might be able to stop the creature 
from running away. 

The forester did speak once to the swimming 
dog, but seeing that his words had no effect, he 
said : 

“ Let him go with you, lad. He seeks his mas- 
ter, which I hoi’ be a goodish trait in a servant. 
It may be he is proper and we are picking up 
ticklish sign with a wanton waste o’ jedgment. Let 


i30 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


the Sergeant go to his master. He may be needed. 
I can see without his eyes, and hear without his 
ears. Ay, lad, let the dog go with you, and ne’er 
blame him for his prudishness.” 

Having come to this conclusion, Ben resolved 
to make it as easy as he could for Sergeant, and so 
he helped him into the canoe, where the dog rested 
contentedly, while the young rower sent the light 
craft swiftly over the clear water that scarcely 
rippled with its sharp prow. 

Ben realized that he was likely to encounter many 
perils on his way to the camp of General Johnson, 
and he was fully resolved not to run headlong into 
any danger. It was his intention tp so shape his 
course that he could reach the shore of the lake 
so as to gain the old trail that followed closely to 
the shore. The Sergeant, as if alive to the situa- 
tion, soon left the bottom of the canoe, and with 
his fore paws resting on the bow he lifted his head 
so his keen vision swept the scene ahead as far as 
the dim light) of the night could carry the eye. 

Somewhat of an enthusiast over the charms of 
the wildwood and the waters, Ben could not be 
otherwise than deeply impressed with the lonely 
grandeur of his environments. With its wealth 
of sparkling waters, its numerous islands, one for 
every day in the year, and its frame of mountains 
garnished with forests in varying shades of green, 


AN EXCITING RACE 


131 

with a northern sky smiling down upon it, this 
beautiful sheet of water is perhaps the most charm- 
ing lake in America. Coupled with this fact it is 
the most historical, where many of the most stir- 
ring scenes of the war which was to settle the 
supremacy of the British or the French in this 
country took place. It was into the heart of these 
scenes that Ben was sending his canoe. 

Then how much more impressive must have 
been the view to him as he dared its perils and 
sought its primeval glories. The mountains had 
faded into shadowy shapes, and the forests into 
dark cloaks wrapped closely about their giant 
forms and buttoned with black cliffs. Over the 
water, as over the sky, lay a tranquil calm, black 
lines in the distance showing where the two met. 
The meek-eyed stars looking softly down upon the 
scene left their pictures there. 

His mind busy with emotions natural to one 
under such conditions, while he continued to ply 
the paddle with swift and rugged strokes, Ben 
was abruptly brought to a full realization of his 
situation by a low growl from Sergeant, who with 
less regard for his surroundings had more earnest 
watchfulness over his immediate condition. Then, 
too, to give Ben all the credit he deserved, the 
Sergeant had nothing else to do but to watch. 
Confident that he would not give a warning with- 


132 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


out sufficient reason, the young Ranger quickly 
checked his rapid advance, and, allowing the canoe 
to move more leisurely, he took a hurried survey of 
the scene. 

At first Ben was inclined to think that Sergeant 
had given a false alarm, for look where he would, 
not a moving object dotted the watery expanse. 
Scarcely a breath of air stirred the foliage on the 
nearest isle which thrust its head above the water 
like a big pincushion filled with huge pins. He 
was about to resume his paddling, thinking the 
dog had sniffed some strange scent wafted hither 
from one of the islands, when from around the 
jagged shoulder of one of these selfsame islands 
the prow of an Indian canoe shot into sight. 

It was near enough for him to discern at least 
a dozen dusky figures ranged along its sides, while 
it was being propelled by strong hands. Sergeant 
gave another growl and, as if aware of the danger 
into which they were going, sank lower in the 
canoe, but without relaxing his watch of the 
enemy. 

Ben saw that it was a critical time for him. It 
is true he might turn back, but even if that should 
ensure his escape, he had no desire to abandon his 
purpose of reaching the English camp. Then he 
quickly resolved upon following what he believed 
to be his best course. This was to veer to his 


AN EXCITING RACE 


133 


right, and pass up on the other side of the island. 
He hoped he could gain the cover of its shadows 
before he was discovered by the boat-load of 
Hurons, as he judged the oncoming party to be. 

But he soon found that he was not quick enough 
to do this, for a prolonged yell from throats that 
seemed to be lined with iron or copper rang over 
the water with a sharpness and distinctness which 
sent a shiver of horror through his frame. He 
plied his paddle with redoubled energy, and as 
he sped around the end of the island his last view 
of his enemies showed that they were approaching 
at a furious rate. 

The island Ben was now passing proved to be 
long and narrow, and wooded to the edge of the 
water. He found also that the water was dotted 
in this vicinity with smaller isles, the majority of 
which were covered with thick growths. It was 
thus darker here than at any previous section of 
his journey. This fact, however, gave him courage, 
for he believed he would be the better able to elude 
his foes in the darkness thrown over the lake by 
the evergreen foliage covering the patches of land. 
He could hear nothing of his enemies on the other 
side of the island, and unless they should turn back 
so as to intercept his passage, he fondly believed 
he would be able to escape them. Even if they 
should undertake this manoeuvre he hoped yet to 


134 


WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 


outwit them by seeking the cover of some of the 
other isles. 

These thoughts were suddenly and rudely shat- 
tered by another warning note from the Sergeant, 
who was his watchman. Looking up with a feel- 
ing of fear at his heart, Ben now discovered an- 
other canoe bearing down upon him from the space 
ahead. It was nearer than the first, and coming 
directly toward him upon that side of the island. 
He was certain it was not the canoe he had first 
seen, for this was smaller, and it was near enough 
for him to discern the uniform of a French officer 
standing in the middle of the boat. 

The occupants of this canoe discovered him at 
the same moment he had seen them, and though 
no outcry was given, he heard the sharp voice of 
the white commander telling his men, who were 
mostly Indians, to row faster, and not let the Eng- 
lish scout escape. 

Ben’s heart came into his mouth, as the expres- 
sion goes, and for a moment he felt that he was 
lost. But he was still resolved to make a desperate 
effort to elude his pursuers, and so he again 
changed his course to try to put another island 
between him and his enemies. 

This time they were so near that they opened 
fire upon him, a volley of bullets whistling over 
his head in dangerous proximity. The next 


AN EXCITING RACE 


135 


minute, before they could reload their firearms, he 
was out of their range. Yet this island was smaller 
than the other, and he knew if the enemy should 
retrace their course so as to come around the upper 
end, his flight would be stopped in that direction. 

“ Look sharp for them, Sergeant/’ he said, while 
he bent all of his efforts toward sending the canoe 
through the water. 

The shots of the nearest party was answered by 
another yell from the canoe-load in the distance. 
These, no doubt, were doing their best to lend 
their assistance to the French officer and his fol- 
lowers. This outcry had barely died away before 
Ben heard, with renewed dread, the war-cry of yet 
a third party located somewhere in the distance 
ahead behind the islands whose cover he was hop- 
ing to gain. For a little time the stout heart of 
brave Ben Browne quailed, and he felt that it was 
useless for him to keep on. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE SERGEANT SAVES BEN SCENES AT THE 

CAMP 

Ben knew it was all to gain or all to lose with 
him. To falter for a moment meant capture by an 
enemy that knew neither mercy nor the code of 
honour. Better far for him to die in an attempt to 
escape than to become a captive. His gun lay close 
beside him, ready for immediate use, and once more 
he sheered to his right, sending his canoe ahead 
with strokes that fairly lifted it from the water. 

“ Don’t let him escape ! ” cried the officer. 
“ Stop, sir! or we will fill you with lead.” 

The young Ranger made no reply to this, save 
to continue his efforts; his lips compressed till the 
blood almost came through, and the muscles upon 
his hands stood out like whip-cords. 

He had been close to the isle when he discovered 
this second party of foes, and in changing his ad- 
vance he passed so near the shore that the over- 
hanging branches of the frees whipped him in the 
face, and brought a howl of pain from the Sergeant. 
Despite this, Ben bent lower over his paddle and 
136 


THE SERGEANT SA VES BEN 


13 ; 


sped on. Three or four shots barely missed him, 
and he could hear the enemy in stubborn pursuit. 

As he sent the light canoe speeding over the 
water, the young Ranger could hear the Sergeant 
lashing his side with his tail, and knew the dog was 
thoroughly alive to the situation. Another series 
of yells ringing from the first party he had seen 
made the night hideous with its frightful menace 
of passion and hatred. Then, a briefer but not less 
demoniacal reply came from the distance ahead. 
Truly it seemed as if enemies were in every quar- 
ter, and turn whither he would he was sure to run 
into them. In the short interval of his flight many 
thoughts flashed through Ben’s mind, and he 
thought of home, and mother, and loved ones, 
believing that his race would soon be over. 

He was following now a narrow channel be- 
tween two islands, the smaller one being upon his 
left. This was the isle separating him from his 
foes in the canoe in which the French officer was 
commander. He feared this party more than the 
other, for their shots had been made with closer 
precision. So now he decided to turn around the 
longer island, hoping that, once behind that, he 
would be able to escape. He could hear his pur- 
suers close behind him, and just as he reached the 
end of the island a volley of bullets whistled 


138 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

through the air, though missing him by three or 
four yards. 

It must not be supposed that Ben was as skilled 
with the use of the paddle as the Woodranger, nor 
yet as adept as William Stark, or many of the 
Rangers, who had spent more of their time in fol- 
lowing in their intricate windings the streams of 
Northern New England by means of the light skiff, 
of which the Indian could rightfully claim the credit 
of being the inventor. But the present exciting 
strain, it is safe to say, lent him both strength and 
skill. Under his powerful strokes the canoe fairly 
flew around the corner of rocky earth, forming the 
extreme point of the island, fringed to the water’s 
edge by bushes. 

Hugging closely to the shore, both for the pro- 
tection of the growth and the shortening of his 
route, Ben suddenly found himself confronted by 
the third boat-load of Indians under the command 
of a French officer. 

So silently and swiftly had this party rushed 
forward to join in the capture, that now the canoe 
was in reach of Ben’s paddle! 

The surprise was mutual, for the allied forces 
had not dreamed of the close proximity of the fugi- 
tive, for it must be remembered that, while some 
of his enemies were making the scene ring with 


THE SERGEANT SAVES BEN 1 39 

furious demonstrations of excitement, Ben was 
fleeing in silence. 

Ben recovered from the surprise first, and with 
rare presence of mind he turned the prow of his 
canoe in season to avert a collision with the other. 
But he realized it was impossible for him to escape 
by flight. A dozen firearms were already being 
raised against him, and the sharp order of the 
leader rang out : 

“ Stop or — ” 

Resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible, 
Ben was dropping his paddle in the bottom of the 
canoe to take up in its place his gun, when he saw 
the Sergeant crouching for a spring, and before 
he could have stopped him, if he would, the form 
of the agile dog shot through the air. 

In defiance of the dozen firearms pointing their 
deadly muzzles toward him, the gallant Sergeant 
cleared the space between the two canoes, to land 
upon the breast of the officer. 

Giving a sharp cry of mingled pain and terror, 
the French commander reeled back, and, carried 
down by the force of the sudden assault that had 
been made upon him, fell into the midst of his fol- 
lowers. What a medley of cries and confusion 
followed! The canoe rocked, and some of the 
dusky soldiers tumbled overboard into the water. 
Others, in their wild efforts to escape the attacks 


140 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

of the four-footed enemy, caused the birch skiff 
to overturn, when the whole party, the dog still in 
their midst, began a struggle in the water. 

Fortunately for Ben, the impetus given his canoe 
when Sergeant made his furious bound toward the 
enemy carried it ahead instead of sidewise, so by 
the time the officer and his crew were capsized, the 
young Ranger found himself a dozen yards away, 
and, what was of equal importance to him, right 
side up with care. He lost no time in improving 
his opportunity, and he was soon speeding the canoe 
from the scene with all the strength of his good 
right arm. With this party out of the pursuit, he 
felt confidence in his ability to escape. 

Thus, with renewed hope, he sped on and on, 
until the cries of his discomfited enemies were no 
longer to be heard. He now slackened his speed; 
in fact, he came to a stop, looking anxiously back, 
while he wondered what had become of his brave 
friend who had saved his life at the critical mo- 
ment. 

The Sergeant was nowhere to be seen or heard. 
He called his name softly, not daring to speak in 
a louder key, but no response came to him. 

“ Noble fellow ! ” he thought. “ I shall feel badly 
if he has been killed. It was a fight for me.” 

The network of islands from out of which he 
had just come formed a continuous breastwork of 


THE SERGEANT SAVES BEN 141 

land as they appeared in the distance, their outlines 
running together in what seemed to be a solid mass. 

“ I would go back if I dared/' he mused; “but 
it would be running into the jaws of the enemy. 
If I only knew the Sergeant's fate, I should feel 
easier. I suppose I ought to have stopped sooner. 
This running away looks so cowardly. He never 
ran away from a friend ! " 

So Ben, his mind filled with conflicting thoughts, 
not all of which were pleasant, lingered in the 
vicinity as long as he dared. He even retraced his 
course a few hundred yards, but he could not ascer- 
tain anything in regard to the fate of Sergeant. 
Finally, knowing it would be not only useless but 
dangerous for him to remain there longer, he again 
moved up the lake, increasing the progress of his 
flight as he measured mile after mile of the crystal 
Horican with his paddle. 

Leaving Ben to follow his lonely course, assured 
now of his comparative safety, let us return to 
William Stark and other scenes which demand at- 
tention in order to understand better the series of 
adventures upon which the fortunes of our friends 
depend. 

Philip, the friendly Sokokis, reached the camp of 
General Johnson at the head of the Horican, where 
the British commander had pitched his tents and 
begun work upon a fleet of bateaux with which 


142 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


to move against the allied enemies about sunset. 
Though the Sabbath had been a peaceful day as far 
as the weather was concerned, it had not been 
wholly a day of rest amid the bustle and excite- 
ment of this camp in the wilderness. War sadly 
desecrates the better sentiments of man, and stalks 
grimly into home and church, a spectre of lost 
hopes. Parson Williams had barely completed his 
sermon to the soldiers of Fort George before the 
lithe, dusky scout burst upon the scene with the 
announcement that Baron Dieskau, at the head of 
nearly four thousand men, was marching upon 
Fort Lyman. At last the sluggish British com- 
mander was made to realize that the hour of ac- 
tion was near at hand. 

Knowing that Fort Lyman was ill prepared to 
meet such an attack, and that its seizure by the 
French would be a serious menace to his safety, 
General Johnson immediately called for a volun- 
teer to carry a despatch to its commander with all 
haste possible. A wagoner, named Charley Adams, 
quickly offered his services, and, mounted upon 
one of the best horses to be found, started upon 
his perilous mission. More perilous than many 
dreamed, for soon after his departure the entire 
camp rested upon its arms. 

In the meantime, as it has been partly shown, 
the French commander, a German baron named 


THE SERGEANT SAVES BEN 1 43 

Dieskau, had been pushing resolutely forward in 
the determined purpose of surprising and routing 
the English and New England troops. One of 
Baron Dieskau’s greatest sources of trouble was 
his Indian allies, who gave him no end of trouble, 
and as much as anything, perhaps, caused him to 
be continually on the move. To stop was like sit- 
ting down on a hornets’ nest, for they gave him 
no rest nor peace, but were always calling on him 
for something to eat or something to do in the way 
of amusement, but never of work. Harassed thus 
by his own followers, the commander moved up the 
waterway, until he had reached the head of South 
Bay. Here he abandoned his canoes, and started 
upon a march toward Fort Lyman, confident that 
he would be able to complete his premeditated sur- 
prise. A prisoner captured a few days before had 
told him an ingenious falsehood regarding the true 
situation at the head of the “ carrying-place,” and 
he was made more anxious than ever to move 
against it. 

Thus, the evening upon which the little party of 
refugees were resting so anxiously at the Lookout, 
when Ben was having his exciting experience upon 
the Horican, Philip had entered General Johnson’s 
camp with his announcement, and Charley Adams 
was on his way to carry the news of the expected 
attack of the French and Indians, that body of 


144 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


allied forces encamped upon the road leading to 
Fort Lyman and only three miles distant. 

They had barely halted for their brief rest be- 
fore marching upon the fort ahead, when the clatter 
of horse’s hoofs coming down the road aroused the 
Indian sentinels. Some of these sprang into cov- 
ert by the roadside, to await the oncoming rider. 

He was the brave Charley Adams who had under- 
taken to carry the message of alarm to Fort Lyman, 
and, unconscious of the trap into which he was run- 
ning, he dashed smartly ahead to make up for the 
few minutes he had recently lost in trying to dis- 
suade some unfaithful wagoners to return back to 
the camp. These had rebelled against the orders 
of General Johnson, and were determined to leave 
the camp with their teams. 

“ You are making a serious mistake,” declared 
the messenger. “ Every man is needed now at the 
front. Besides, you are likely to run upon the 
French at any moment. I am now on my way to 
warn Fort Lyman of danger from the approaching 
army.” 

“ A plug of wood for Dieskau and all of his 
red imps ! ” cried the leader of the dissatisfied 
wagoners. “ The same, too, for Johnson. I, for 
one, am tired of the whole rabble and am going to 
get back to Albany just as quick as these half- 
starved hosses can get me there.” 


THE SEE GE A NT SAVES BEAT 


145 


A cheer from his followers told Charley Adams 
that it was useless for him to waste his time with 
them. Aye, though unconscious of it then, he had 
already lost time that would cost him his life. Had 
he kept on without delay, he might have escaped 
the attack of his enemies. As it was, a few min- 
utes later, he ran into the ambush set for him, and 
was shot down like a dog. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE AMBUSCADES 

William Stark, having spent some time in re- 
connoitring the enemy’s line, was then on his way 
to warn his companions at Fort Lyman of the peril 
threatening them, and the shot which killed Char- 
ley Adams arrested his advance. Crawling for- 
ward upon his hands and knees, he was in season 
to see the Indians searching the clothes of the 
brave messenger, the slayer having appropriated 
his scalp. Among other things that they found was 
the letter written by General Jackson to Colonel 
Blanchard. 

This aroused the impetuous Stark, and for a 
while he was more than half-inclined to throw 
himself against the allied enemies. But, of course, 
he quickly realized that this would be the most 
foolish act he could do. So, with a last look of 
pity for the unfortunate man, he started ahead 
with more haste than formerly to reach Fort Ly- 
man. 

Stark had not gone far, and the French and 

Indians were still exulting over their success in 
146 


THE AMBUSCADES 


147 


obtaining this secret of their enemy's movements, 
when the rumble of wagon wheels was heard in 
the distance. The encampment instantly became 
quiet, and along the road ranged the Indians in 
ambush for the newcomers, whomever they should 
be. 

One of these was to prove an old acquaintance 
of ours, none other than Lige Bitlock, who had 
parted with Stark a short time before to go on 
to General Johnson's camp with news of the 
enemy’s intended raid. The Ranger had stumbled 
upon the deserting wagoners, who gave him glow- 
ing accounts of their plans, and how easy it would 
be for them to reach Albany, where they would 
have a fine time and escape the hardships of war. 
The truth told, Lige had some time since repented 
of his decision to join Rogers' Rangers, and here 
he believed was a fine chance to get away. So 
he readily fell in with the invitation to join these 
mutinous drivers, and inside of five minutes after 
meeting them he was riding beside one of the 
drivers, and going in an opposite direction from 
the British camp. 

Lige was feeling in high spirits, and he was 
telling the driver beside him of his wonderful ad- 
ventures about home, when he treed a catamount 
and then climbed the tree to pull the creature down. 

“ B’gosh ! " he said, “ the boys jes’ said I 


148 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


darsn’t do yit, an’ I says, says I, ‘ Jumpin’ juni- 
pers! I’ll show ye.’ Then I went up thet air 
chestnut like a squirrel, an’ thet cat seein’ me 
cornin’ skid up higher ’s fast ’s I went. I knowed 
I’d got to ketch th’ creetur’ or th’ boys ’d larf at 
me. So I spit on my hands an’ clum’ ’s I’d never 
clum’ afore. I could see thet air cat’s tail a-stickin’ 
out erbout a foot, an’ ’s big’s a hoss’s tail with 
th’ mane throwed in. 

“ I could hear th’ boys cacklin’ like hens, an’ 
kept on clum’in’ with my hand jes’ ahint thet cat’s 
long tail. I s’pose th’ fool cat got s’ ’cited like, for 
ye may take me fer yer ramrod if it didn’t keep 
right on clum’in’ till it got up where th’ blamed 
branches o’ thet chestnut were too ticklish to hoi’ 
a spider. I wasn’t to be outdone by enny gol- 
durned wildcat with sich a measly look, an’ without 
lettin’ I knowed how it was foolin’ itself I clum’ 
right arter it. But I went so tarnel quick ’em 
leetle twigs jes’ hild their heads right up till I’d 
got both feet half a yard ’bove the last one, an’ — ” 

Lige never told just what happened then, or if 
he got the wildcat or not, for at that moment a 
terrific yell came from the concealed red men, and 
a volley of shot rattled about the wagons in the 
lead. The driver beside Lige was killed, and the 
boastful Ranger leaped high enough into the air to 
have caught that cat if it had been above him, while 





^fpp^ 


“ FELL UPON HIS KNEES AND BEGGED FOR HIS LIFE 










THE AMBUSCADES 


149 


he sent up a shriek of terror which drowned the 
war-cries of the Indians. 

Of the dozen drivers, five were shot, five es- 
caped by flight, and two were captured, together 
with Lige Bitlock, who fell upon his knees and 
begged for his life. One of the captors lifted his 
tomahawk and would have brained the hapless 
fellow then and there, had not another interfered, 
saying : 

“ He little-wit — head all empty ! ” 

Indians always respected or had sympathy for 
the foolish, and so Lige Bitlock’s life was spared. 
But the youth suffered fearful agony over what 
he imagined fate had in store for him. Nor did 
he have less reason than he supposed for his fears. 
Indians upon the war-path were always to be 
dreaded as the worst enemies one could meet. It 
was then all the ferocious traits coming from sav- 
age life reigned, and these Hurons with a sprin- 
kling of Iroquois allied with the French were no 
exception. In fact, future events were to prove 
that the fiendishness of their nature was aroused 
to a pitch often beyond control by their white com- 
manders. Lige, however, for the time, was left 
to his own reflections. 

The other captives were closely questioned, and 
they both declared that the British and New Eng- 
landers were encamped at the head of the lake in 


i5o 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


great numbers. The Indians then asked them if 
the palefaces had many cannons, and upon being 
told that they did not, while there were many at 
Fort Lyman, they openly declared that they would 
join in an attack against this body of whites, but 
would not go on to meet the “ big guns ” of Fort 
Lyman. Baron Dieskau knew that they had a 
great dread of cannon, and finding his remon- 
strances lost upon them, he consented to assault 
the camp at Lake George, though it was expected 
that he would be outnumbered. The British regu- 
lars were objects of ridicule to the Indians, while 
the raw New England troops were held up to 
French scorn, so, with the enthusiasm of a victory 
over Braddock, recently acquired, the French had 
courage to push forward to what was to prove the 
crucial battle in the campaign. 

“ The more there are of them,” said Baron 
Dieskau to his Canadian allies, both white and 
red, “ the more scalps there will be to carry 
home.” 

The order was then given to break camp, and 
inside of an hour the allied forces were marching 
under the lofty pines toward the lake. As they 
advanced the ground grew more rugged, and soon 
they entered a wild ravine where it was too dark 
to see more than the shadowy outlines of the march- 
ing men, and the only sound that fell on the scene, 


THE AMBUSCADES 


151 

except the steady tread of moving feet, was the 
tinkle, tinkle of murmuring waters winding along 
the rocky bed of a small stream. The road was 
narrow, so the Indians and Canadians spread out 
through the growth. 

A couple of scouts, sent ahead to reconnoitre the 
way, came back with a captive, who boldly avowed 
that the English were approaching in full force, 
having been told by the escaped wagoners that the 
French and Indians were planning to march against 
them. With the boldness and rapidity of his na- 
ture, Dieskau quickly decided to prepare an am- 
buscade for the oncoming army. 

The situation was all that could be desired for 
such a purpose. They were still about three miles 
from the shore of the lake, but through the rifts 
in the tree-tops could be seen the rocky height of 
French Mountain, while nearer rose the more gentle 
slopes of West Mountain. Here the Canadians 
and Indians sought cover behind the trees and 
bushes, every man with firearm ready for instant 
use, while he crouched like a human tiger and 
waited in breathless silence for the first sound of 
the expected troops. The French regulars, trained 
in the most approved tactics of war at that period, 
were stationed along the road, guns cocked, every 
emotion held in abeyance, as all listened for the 


152 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


tread of that soldiery expected to march unsus- 
pecting into this deadly snare laid to entrap it. 

Called back to the scene of the French encamp- 
ment by the attack made upon the wagoners, Will- 
iam Stark, lying in a neighbouring thicket, witnessed 
something of the incidents that followed. He 
realized that some change was taking place in the 
plans of the commander, and in order to satisfy 
himself what that might mean, he followed the 
allied forces for a short distance, or nearly back 
to the gorge where they laid their ambush for the 
expected army under General Johnson. He was 
now confident that the designs upon Fort Lyman 
had been abandoned, and that an attack upon the 
British camp at the head of the Horican was pre- 
meditated. Accordingly he started at once for 
that place. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE BLOODY MORNING SCOUT 

Upon receiving the intelligence from the wagon- 
ers that the French, with their allies, were upon 
the war-trail heading toward Fort Lyman, General 
Johnson called a council, which decided that im- 
mediate action should be taken against them. In- 
cluding the Indians, the force consisted of about 
twenty-five hundred men. It was decided that five 
hundred of these should march toward South Bay, 
in the direction whence the French had come, and 
that another body of equal size should start to the 
assistance of Fort Lyman. 

This last body was to include a contingency of 
Mohawks under the leadership of him who may 
truthfully be said to have been the last of the Mo- 
hican chiefs. This brave old chieftain, who had 
figured in many stirring scenes in years gone by, 
did not present the picture of an ideal warrior. 
Added to the burden of his years was a large sur- 
plus of flesh which made it difficult for him to get 
about. He was also a great sufferer from a wound 
he had received in former encounters, while his 
*53 


*54 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


eyesight was somewhat impaired. But if weak- 
ened physically, the old chief still retained the wis- 
dom and much of the spiritual fire of his vigorous 
manhood. 

When it was approved by the council that such 
small forces should be sent out upon such hazardous 
marches, leaving more able-bodied men behind to 
do nothing, the Mohawk, whose name was Hen- 
drick, picked up a stick which he broke with ease. 
Then, taking half a dozen, he laid them together, 
and showed that they could not be broken in that 
manner. The officers could not fail to see and 
understand the truth of the old chief’s suggestion, 
and it was decided to unite the two companies, and 
send this body toward Fort Lyman. Even this did 
not satisfy the astute Mohawk, who shook his 
head slowly, saying: 

“Too many if they are to be killed; too few 
if they are to fight.” 

Despite his well-grounded fears, Hendrick, the 
hero of half a hundred battles, was not inclined 
to let his warriors take the war-trail while he re- 
mained behind. Climbing, with considerable dif- 
ficulty, a gun-carriage, he addressed his warriors 
in one of the most eloquent and stirring speeches 
ever made, in which he pictured in glowing terms 
the duty that lay before them. The result was 
that over two hundred of his warriors joined the 


“ THE BLOODY MORNING SCOUT” IS 5 

ill-fated expedition. General Johnson loaned him 
a horse to ride, and thus mounted he rode at the 
head of his column of followers decked out in 
war-paint and feathers. 

While there is something grand and awe- 
inspiring in the sight of a column of marching 
men, there is a pathetic association belonging to 
the picture. Most especially was this true of the 
little body of troops that left the camp of Lake 
George about eight o’clock upon the fateful morn- 
ing of September 8th, when General Johnson sent 
forth a thousand of his men upon what has passed 
into history as “ the bloody morning scout.” 

The regiment of white men was made up of New 
England yeomanry, under the command of Colonel 
Williams, of Connecticut, with a good second in 
Lieutenant-Colonel Whiting. Without dreaming 
of the fearful danger into which they were march- 
ing, this body, with the Mohawks under Hendrick, 
marched silently, but rapidly, on their way. The 
foe was not supposed to be within several miles, 
and thus no scouts were sent in advance, nor were 
there any to cover their flank. 

Suddenly Hendrick, who was riding close to the 
front, detected the movement of a twig beside the 
path. He had scarcely discovered this, and had 
not been able to give the alarm before the report 
of a gun rang out with the stunning effect of a 


i S 6 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


peal of thunder from a clear sky. Then an Iro- 
quois warrior sprang into his path, and, outstretch- 
ing his hands to show friendliness, demanded: 

“ Whence came you? ” 

Recognizing the speaker as belonging to a tribe 
friendly to his, but some of whose warriors had 
been won over to the French, he replied: 

“ My brother knows I came from the Mohawks, 
From whence came he?” 

“ From Montreal.” 

The dialogue was brought to an abrupt termi- 
nation, and the friendly intention of the Iroquois 
was ended by the discharge of a volley of mus- 
ketry. One of these shots struck Hendrick, and 
the brave Mohawk fell from his horse to rise no 
more. Wild with the excitement of his death, his 
followers gave expression to wild cries of revenge, 
which were answered by the Iroquois, and the 
battle was on. 

Realizing the trap into which they had fallen, 
and knowing it was a death-grapple, the New Eng- 
land men entered the combat with the wild de- 
termination to meet fate fighting their fiercest. 
The annals of Indian warfare show no more bitter 
contest than that waged here. Early in the strug- 
gle the leader of the Iroquois, Legardeur de St. 
Pierre, who was a veteran of many fierce bush 
fights, fell mortally wounded, and died soon after. 


“ THE BLOODY MORNING SCOUT” 1 57 

Colonel Williams, urging on his men with great 
bravery, rushed forward to gain the little summit 
where stands the boulder that was to become his 
monument, and was seen to stagger and reel in his 
advance. Another shot struck him in the brain, 
and he went down to lead his brave men no more. 
Beside him fell many of his gallant followers, 
while those behind dashed forward to take the 
place of their fallen comrades. 

At the moment of the discharge of the gun 
which was fired to warn the aged Mohawk chief 
of the peril of himself and comrades, but which 
became the signal of battle, Ben Browne, whom 
we have lost sight of since the night before, when 
we left him on his journey across the lake to the 
English camp, was within close proximity, rapidly 
threading his way toward his destination entirely 
unconscious of the ambuscade he was running into 
until that moment. Even then it was so still for 
a brief while that he fancied it was only the ran- 
dom shot of some one abroad with less show of 
discretion than he should display considering the 
situation. 

But before Ben had begun to beat a retreat, the 
volley of shots followed, and he suddenly found 
himself surrounded by enemies. Without stopping 
to fire a shot in return, he dropped flat upon the 
ground, and then he began to crawl backward out 


i5» 


WITH ROGERS' R ANGERS 


of what he had found to be an ugly predicament. 
Every bush and tree seemed to send forth its foe- 
man, until the whole woods were fairly alive with 
the dancing fiends. Sheets of flame flashed and 
reflashed upon the horrid scene, and the roar of 
the firearms became deafening. 

Seeing a thicket of ground-hemlock encircling 
the foot of a big pine, Ben thought to gain its 
cover by a swift dash in that direction. He reached 
the place only to find himself met by three dusky 
Iroquois who rose in his pathway like grim aven- 
gers from some dark cavern. 

“ Houha ! houha ! ” yelled the red men, thrust- 
ing their firearms into his face. 

Ben dashed these aside just as they were dis- 
charged, and taking hasty aim with his own 
weapon pulled the trigger. One of the Indians 
dropped, but the others, with rage over the fate of 
their companion, brandished their guns and struck 
at him with all their strength. These blows Ben 
managed to dodge, and, clubbing his own musket, 
he tried to beat them off. Finding that he could 
not do that, and that the fight was becoming more 
fierce all around him, the young Ranger beat a 
precipitate retreat. Howling like madmen, the In- 
dians gave pursuit. 

Such a race could not last long. Ben was so close 
upon the hiding-places of the enemies that, turn 


“THE BLOODY MORNING SCOUT” 1 59 

whither he would, it was only to be met by, not 
one, but half a dozen of them! Farther up the 
valley he knew the battle was raging wilder and 
fiercer than ever. His sole chance lay in going 
in the direction of the lake. He regretted now he 
had left it at all, but he had felt that the woods 
were safer than the water. When it was too late 
he saw his mistake. 

However, Ben was not one to repine, even if he 
had had more time in which to do it, and resolved 
to clear his way through the howling mob or die 
in the attempt. He swung his musket over his head, 
and brought it down with telling effect upon the 
nearest Iroquois. Then he sprang with all his 
weight and strength against the second foe. This 
one he doubled up like a jack-knife, but before he 
could rally to meet the next, he was hurled to the 
ground in a heap. A thousand stars seemed to 
dance before his eyes, and then it became dark. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE DANGER -LINE 

Leaving further description of these exciting 
scenes to another chapter, let us return to see how 
it is faring with those at the Lookout. The Wood- 
ranger, it will be remembered, was on guard at the 
foot of the cliff, where he could command an ex- 
tended view of the placid lake, and at the same 
time remain unseen himself. He had taken his 
position behind two huge fragments of rock, which 
had been hurled at some time by some mighty con- 
vulsion of nature from the height above. So nicely 
had they been dropped there that the two stood as 
one, with simply a seam-like crevice between them 
running from top to bottom. About three feet from 
the base, where a piece had been chipped out of 
one, an aperture about the size of a hand had been 
left. Through this any one behind the barrier 
could look out upon the water without his presence 
being known to one outside. The end of the upper 
rock fitted so tightly against the side of the per- 
pendicular cliff that there was no escape on that side. 

At the opposite end was an opening about two feet 
160 


THE DANGER. LINE l6l 

in width. The narrow path winding upward to 
the rocky plateau, which was the site of the stone 
house, ran close to this place, and was barely wide 
enough for three to pass abreast. 

The brief description is necessary in order to 
understand the following scenes of thrilling inter- 
est, when the brave forester made one of the most 
determined defences of human life ever undertaken. 

He was behind this barrier when Ben Browne 
entered the canoe and paddled away on his jour- 
ney to the English camp at the head of the lake, 
and he watched the young Ranger with close atten- 
tion until he disappeared in the distance. 

“ Aweel, now’s me,” he murmured, “ the lad do 
handle his paddle with discretion, both as to the 
saving grace o’ his arm and the watchful care o’ 
the inemy that canna be far away. I’m a’most 
afeerd the lad will run into an amazement that’ll 
tie his skein into hard knots. But hear this ol’ bab- 
bling brook in my head running away with itself, 
for a’ the worl’ like childish prattle. It must be 
a weakness that comes with the years. Now hear 
me prate o’ weakness, when the time has come 
that calls for a’ the strength that manhood can 
give ! I ne’er expected to see this hour, and I durst 
not lift a finger or speak a word. If it be right, 
then it be true; if it be true, then it be right. I 
durst not open my mouth to her to-day. To-mor- 


162 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


row, it may be, I’ll be stronger. But first I must 
hoi’ converse with the breeze which has loved a 
thousand times, and lost. I must trail thought with 
the laughing water, that has been jilted over and 
again for all the love it has given. I must com- 
mune with the stars that are as constant as the days 
o’ time. Nay, now I’m minded, sich be not for me, 
a mortal, to unravel thought. The mood o’ the pine 
suits me nearest. That has been constant, too, but 
unlike the star it forgets. It whispers love to the 
dancing naiads o’ the water, and swears eternal 
fidelity. The next moment it laughs in the arms 
o’ the south wind, and coyly whispers it tender 
promises. 

“ To-night the stars look down through its 
matted branches and whisper, ‘ Mary ! ’ The wave- 
lets, beating their endless symphony, murmur, 
‘ Mary ! ’ I hear it in the breath o’ the wanton 
breeze, ‘ Mary ! ’ All natur’ sings the name, the 
sweetest in human speech, the name which has been 
locked in my heart a prisoner for more than thirty 
years, and all the long, weary time the finger o’ 
silence lay on the lip o’ natur’. Now, here, where 
man has scarce left his imprint, she has come to 
me, and all the ol’ dream comes floating back with 
her. Again I feel her head resting on my breast, 
as it did on that fair evening when we plighted 
our troth for life. Ay, it was for life, let ’em say 


THE DANGER- LINE 1 63 

what they will. To-night she is so near I durst 
not go to her! I durst not speak her name above 
a whisper, but I will try again and again. To- 
morrow I will have better the trailing o’ it, and 
mebbe, mind you, I do not say this as prophet 
might, to-morrow I may have tongue to speak it 
aloud. Then, in spite o’ my weakness, I will go 
to her, and if she be kind, and the way — hush! 
what foolish whim has now unsettled this ol’ head 
grown gray before its time? It might be better 
for her if I perambulated this hour — ” 

While indulging in this rambling soliloquy, which 
expressed so forcibly the deep emotions striving 
for the supremacy in his heart, true to . the long 
training he had received as a forest scout, he had 
not let his eye leave the expanse of water glisten- 
ing under the stars like a foil of silver. In the 
midst of his speech an object had caught his atten- 
tion. It was only a speck far out on the water, 
and yet within a minute it had grown in size — 
moved — come nearer. 

“ Take on the sight o’ your ’arly years, when 
noonday sun ne’er sent you skurrying to some cor- 
ner, ol’ eyes. That be an amazement calling for 
discretionary notions. If they be white, they do 
trail ’mazing slow. Nay, they be brown-faces. 01’ 
Danger,” tapping the stock of his long, service- 
able firearm, which he had carried for many years, 


164 WITH ROGERS' R AUGERS 

and which bore unmistakable evidence of its faith- 
fulness, “ unlimber your tongue, and be ready to 
make your presentation speech.” 

Relapsing into silence, the Woodranger stood 
motionless at his post for several minutes, his eye 
watching carefully the approach of the strange 
canoe. Somewhat to his surprise, this finally veered 
to the right, and began to move directly toward 
the shore. 

“ They don’t mean to land there,” mused the 
forester. “ That be a ruse.” 

So he continued his watch until at last the canoe 
and its occupants disappeared from his view be- 
hind a point of rocks some distance up the shore 
of the lake. But he did not relax his vigilance, 
though he made the rocky shore line now his ob- 
jective sight. 

Ten minutes must have passed in silence, and 
without any indication of the presence of any one 
within a mile, when a smile overspread the weather- 
beaten countenance of the scout. 

“ I opined as much, I swan I did,” he said, in 
his peculiar manner of addressing himself. While 
he spoke, he emphasized the importance of his 
thoughts by slowly raising the firearm he had been 
holding in his hands in readiness for use to a level 
with the opening in the wall. He was crouching 
upon one knee and foot, his eye riveted upon the 


THE DANGER -LINE 


165 


scene without, until the lines of his face became 
more tense, and the fingers closed tighter about the 
hammer of the weapon. 

The canoe had reappeared upon the orbit of his 
vision, this time keeping close in to the rocky shore, 
while it slowly and cautiously advanced under 
the shadows of the overhanging growth, whose 
branches at places lapped the water like thirsty 
fowl. He could count six men, four of whom were 
busy plying their paddles, while one sat in the stern, 
guiding the course of the little craft, and the sixth 
stood bolt upright in the prow, peering ahead with 
the earnestness of a watchman. 

The Woodranger knew they were not in sight 
of those in the Lookout, and he quickly surmised 
the little party was planning a surprise for those 
there, little dreaming of his close proximity. 

They were now near enough for him to see that 
they wore the paint and feathers of a war-party, 
whose purpose was only too plain for him. 

“If you durst pass that p’int o’ rock, ol’ paint 
and feathers,” murmured the forester, “ it’ll be the 
longest trail you e’er took, and I ne’er claim to 
be taken for a prophet.” 

The steady approach to this fatal spot was clearly 
shown by the continued uplifting of his gun by the 
Woodranger, until its ominous muzzle looked with 


1 66 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

a grim stare in the direction of the unsuspecting 
voyagers. 

High up on the mountain, from its elevated perch 
upon some crag, the sharp cry of a lonely night- 
bird at that moment rang shrilly on the scene. It 
was the first sound that had broken the stillness of 
the hour, and came with such a startling distinct- 
ness that for a moment the rowers of the canoe 
ceased their efforts. The man in the prow peered 
more sharply down the shore, and then, as if sat- 
isfied with his survey, signalled to his companions 
to resume their efforts. 

“ Aweel ! ” murmured the forester, “ it did trail 
clus to natur’, clus to natur’, so clus that the chief 
be fooled. It must have been the lass, and it shows 
that she be on the watch, and wished me to know 
that the amazement is clus by. If I did not need 
the warning, I feel none the less thankful for her 
cunning. It tells to me, too, that she be not in 
the stone jug. Howbeit, here’s the ’p’inted time, 
ol’ Danger ! ” 

The Indians in the canoe had indeed reached the 
place selected by the Woodranger as the danger- 
line, and without longer delay he took swift aim 
and fired. 

The report of the weapon had barely ascended 
the mountainside with its far-reaching intonations 


THE DANGER - LINE 1 67 

before the chief threw up his arms, and plunged 
head first into the water. 

The surprise of his companions was expressed 
in a series of wild war-whoops that echoed and re- 
echoed up and down the shore with prolonged dec- 
larations of fiendish hate. 

These had not died away before the Woodranger 
had reloaded his gun, and stood ready to make his 
second shot if he thought it was necessary. 

Evidently fearing other shots, the five surviving 
Indians quickly retraced their course several rods, 
when they paused as if to hold a council of war. 

The Woodranger improved this respite to lay 
his powder and bullets in such a manner as to facil- 
itate the reloading of his weapon in case he should 
be sorely pressed by his enemies. 

Fifteen minutes or more passed in silence, and 
without a move on the part of the Indians. Then 
the solitary watcher saw the boat start swiftly down 
the shore, hugging closer in to the rocks frowning 
down on the lake than before. 

The bronze on the Woodranger’s countenance 
lightened for a moment, though the lines about 
his mouth became compressed, the simple utterance 
“ Aweel ! ” trembling on his lips. 

Old Danger's big, single eye again looked up 
the shore without blinking. The red men had evi- 
dently hoped to pass the point this time without 


1 68 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


being molested. If so, they counted without their 
host. 

No sooner had the prow of the canoe crossed 
the imaginary line fixed by the forester than he 
took deliberate aim and fired again. 

The resonant yell of his victim, no less than his 
wild leap into the air, told of its result. Old Dan- 
ger had scored another victim. 

This time, instead of stopping and turning back, 
the remaining foemen sent the canoe ahead at more 
furious strokes, and before the Woodranger could 
reload his firearm, they had come within close 
range, and seemed likely to reach the landing-place 
at the foot of the path. 

Then another report pealed forth its warning of 
peril, and the third of the little party went down 
to rise no more. 

Terrified over these unerring shots, coming from 
some quarter unknown to them, the survivors beat 
another retreat, this time with wild haste, their cries 
ringing sharply on the night. 

Before they had passed beyond gunshot, so rap- 
idly did the Woodranger recharge his weapon, he 
had lifted the firearm to a horizontal position, and 
was glancing along its barrel. 

“ Be keerful, oY Danger ! ” he whispered, “ and 
ne’er let your temper outrun your jedgment. You 


THE DANGER -LINE 1 69 

ne’er yet have trailed a foe that durst not look you 
in the e’en.” 

So the three were allowed to escape, and for 
more than three hours the Woodranger watched 
and waited for some movement on their part with- 
out discovering any indication of their actions. 
During all of the time he did not leave his post, 
nor for a moment cease to look for his enemies. 

He had heard nothing of those in the Lookout, 
and he was beginning to think the night might pass 
without further evidence of attack from the In- 
dians, when he discovered two canoes bearing down 
toward his post. The simultaneous appearance of 
these boats, and separated by a mile or more of 
distance, gave him cause for some misgivings as 
to the outcome of the renewal of hostilities. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE WOODRANGER’S LAST STAND 

“ The varmints that I let off so easy the first 
time have gone, like wolves hungry for the feast, 
to get other wolves to mingle with ’em in the amaze- 
ment. Do you hear that, ol’ Danger ? Where there 
were six painted pagans, we shall have, mebbe, four 
times six.” 

With these words he again became silent, watch- 
ing the advance of the two canoes, as they drew 
rapidly nearer. One was running so as to reach 
the shore below him ; the other, unless it changed 
its course, would touch land at the foot of the path. 
The first soon passed out of his range of vision, 
and the Woodranger realized now by experience 
what he had foreseen. The Indians coming from 
that direction were sure to take him at a disad- 
vantage. 

It was not long before he distinguished an ob- 
ject following in the wake of the last canoe, which 
at first seemed possible to be another boat. But 
this idea quickly left him, and, as he became cer- 
tain of the object, the old familiar smile stole over 
170 


THE WOODRANGER'S LAST STAND 171 

his features, the lips moving with silent speech and 
the eyes glistening with new-found light. Finally 
his thought found expression in the following 
words : 

“ Aweel, it be an ol’ amazement, and sometimes 
o r tricks serve best. I do not previcate the truth 
when I say that they are determined to oust the 
ol’ man this time. Now’s me, what’s worth doing 
at all is worth doing well. We won’t sleep at our 
post, ol’ Danger, will we ? ” 

So silence again settled upon the little corner 
behind the rocks where the Woodranger coolly and 
calmly awaited his fate. The canoe steering to his 
right had not reappeared upon his view. The other 
was continuing to come nearer, but without undue 
haste. Owing to the darkness, for the sky had 
become overcast with clouds within the hour, the 
Woodranger was still unable to count the occupants 
of the canoe, though he was certain there were 
more than had appeared early in the night. That 
they were Indians he had no doubt. 

Ffteen minutes later, for the boat had slackened 
its speed, he could count ten plumed heads. One 
reason of the slow advance was now apparent, ex- 
plaining also his speech recently made. 

The Indians were pulling behind them a small 
tree ! 

Their object in doing this would not have been 


1 72 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


a mystery to even one not versed in border war- 
fare much longer. 

All at once, as if the water had swallowed them 
up, the entire party vanished ! 

Again the countenance of the forester was trav- 
ersed by a smile, but there was the grimness of 
death rather than the light of mirth in its rapid 
transit across his sun-trod features. 

If the dusky warriors had disappeared, the tree 
continued to sweep nearer the shore. Ay, it came 
faster than it had before, for it was now propelled 
by ten pairs of lusty arms! 

Their plan was to gain the shore under its cover, 
and then to rush upon the concealed party before 
they could be checked. 

Still their approach did not concern the Wood- 
ranger half as much as that of the party which he 
could not see. But of one thing he was certain: 
they could not gain a position to his rear unless 
they climbed to the top of the cliff, when they 
would be too far removed to be a source of danger 
to him, if a menace to the stone house, which was 
beyond doubt their object. 

Could one man with a single-barrelled gun hope 
to hold them at bay? 

The day was now breaking, and between the 
dawn and the day the Woodranger opened with a 
shot from his gun one of the most sanguinary fights 


THE WOODRANGER'S last stand 173 

in which he was ever engaged. He had waited 
until he felt reasonably sure of his mark, and then 
he fired at a dark object half-hidden by a mass of 
pine foliage. 

The success of his shot, proclaimed by the death- 
cry of one of the red men, was ample evidence that 
old Danger had not lost the cunning of that single 
eye. 

The yell of the doomed Indian was answered by 
a series of wild shrieks from lower down the shore, 
and coming from the other party of Indians. 

“ Trails an’ amazement crossed and crisscrossed 
with unknownness,” mused the Woodranger, as he 
hastily recharged his firearm. 

He realized now that the fight was fairly on, and 
that there would be no cessation for him until it 
was decided. 

No outcries had come from those behind the 
floating tree, except that made by the savage who 
had fallen a victim to the unerring gun of the man 
they were determined to capture. 

The pine was now moving in toward the shore 
with greater speed than at any time since its ap- 
pearance, showing that the human power behind 
it was exerting itself to its utmost. 

The Woodranger had again loaded his weapon, 
and stood waiting to pick off his next man. 

The cries of the dusky rabble out of sight had 


*74 


WITH ROGERS' R AUGERS 


died down, and the forester was calculating on his 
chances to hit another of the Indians under the 
cover of the tree, when to his surprise the ringing 
report of a gun sounded over his head, quickly 
followed by the death-yell of another victim. 

Scarcely had the report of the first shot ended 
before that of another rang above the tumult raised 
by the red men, and a second death-cry succeeded 
the first! 

Both shots had been directed against the enemies 
out of the sight of the Woodranger. 

While he knew they had not come from the stone 
house, he realized that they came from that direc- 
tion, though it seemed to him from some position 
far up on the mountainside. 

If wholly unexpected, the forester simply said : 

“ There’s music for you, ol’ Danger! You aren’t 
alone in the amazement.” 

He didn’t have time to say more. There was 
earnest work ahead for him. The party under the 
floating pine were now close into the shore, and 
he could hear the others coming more swiftly than 
cautiously upon the scene. 

Selecting his second victim, he fired again, but 
believed he missed his man. A branch of the tree 
had swung around and thrown the bullet out of its 
course. 

Without stopping to note the effect of his shot, 


THE WOODRANGER'S LAST STAND 1 75 


he began to reload once more. Before he had ac- 
complished this task, the Indians sprang up from 
the water, and six or eight leaped into sight from 
below the corner of rock. 

The lower end of the path was now filled with 
the yelling fiends, who made a wild rush up its 
narrow length. Fortunately, it was too narrow to 
admit of more than three coming abreast, and two 
of these were shot by the unseen marksman before 
the entire body had got fairly into the mad chase. 

Before their yells had ended, the Woodranger 
sent the third upon his way to the “ happy hunting- 
grounds,” when the rest fled precipitately back 
toward the water, or down the rim of rock over- 
hanging the shore. 

The Woodranger had plenty of time to recharge 
his firearm this time, though he did not dally in 
his work. When this was accomplished, he patted 
the old gun affectionately, saying, while he resumed 
his watch over the scene: 

“ Well done, lad, well done. But, now’s me, 
here we be claiming all the fortune o’ war, when 
that lass up yonder, or some good friend, is placing 
two pellets o’ lead where you and I are trailing only 
one! And so clumsy do we stumble along that 
ours warbles like a duck walking on one foot. The 
brown-faces are holding a talk. It will be better 
for ’em if they talk long.” 


176 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

The Indians seemed to take the advice of the 
Woodranger, even if it did not reach their ears, 
for their council lasted over half an hour. It was 
then growing light, and this attempt to reach the 
height was made with less determination than the 
first, and was successfully met by the forester and 
his unseen ally. 

When the third of their number had fallen, the 
others beat another hasty retreat, and for a couple 
of hours they were careful to keep out of sight. 
But it was still an anxious period to the Wood- 
ranger, who did not dare to relax his vigilance for 
a moment. It was true he knew he had somewhere 
in the recesses of the rocks or among the trees above 
him a friend, but he had received no communication 
from such a person, and, if it had not been for the 
deadly shots sent down into the midst of his ene- 
mies by that same unknown ally, he would not have 
dreamed such a person had been there. 

So hour after hour wore tediously away. The 
warm September sun climbed over the mountain- 
top and descended into the west, leaving long silver 
trails upon the surface of the Horican. Then these 
were succeeded by a train of shadows, lengthening 
and spreading until they covered the broad bosom 
of the lake, and night once more settled her sable 
pall upon the scene. 

The Woodranger was aware all of the day that 


THE WOOD RANGER'S LAST STAND * 1 77 

at no time did all of his enemies leave the scene, 
while no less than four times did they rally and 
make ineffectual attempts to follow up the path. 
Each occasion, with the assistance of the unseen 
marksman, he had driven them back to the water, 
or down the shore. They had carried off their 
dead with them, but he knew nearly as many had 
fallen as had at first appeared upon the place. By 
this he knew also that reinforcements had replen- 
ished their numbers. 

He had partaken sparingly of the little dried 
meat he carried in his wallet, but he had not tasted 
of a drop of water, and the thirst was becoming 
severe. The soft lapping of the lake against the 
rocks so near at hand came up to him in mockery 
of his sufferings. Ever and anon he looked up 
toward the stone house, but no sign of life was to 
be seen. This was a relief to him, however, rather 
than a hardship. Often he communed with himself, 
but no murmur or word of fear left his lips. 

As calmly as at the beginning of his long and 
sleepless vigil he entered upon his second night, 
knowing that his enemies would make a more des- 
perate effort than ever to rout him before another 
dawn. He had sighted in the distance two canoes 
loaded with warriors, and he felt certain a larger 
number than at any time awaited the fitting hour 
for renewed endeavours to gain the summit. 


1 78 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


If the old scout was disappointed at the non- 
appearance of friends to succour him, he did not 
betray it by word or act. Rather he seemed to 
take it for granted that the fight was his, his and 
his unseen ally’s, somewhere above his retreat — 
somewhere in the great pine towering a hundred 
feet into the air, as he had finally discovered. But 
the shots had seemed to come from the heart of the 
tree, far up in its lofty trunk. 

With such feelings as may be imagined, but 
cannot be fully understood, he maintained his try- 
ing vigil, while the night crept on apace. He 
knew by the stars, whose dial was as plainly read 
by him as the hands upon a clock, that the midnight 
hour was passing. He felt, too, that the time for 
an attack from his enemies was at hand. Dark 
clouds moving sluggishly across the heavens, carry- 
ing threatenings of rain, would favour them in 
such work, if it were undertaken. 

A splash in the lake a hundred yards out from 
the shore betrayed the presence of some sportive 
member of the finny tribe inhabiting its waters. 
Then the low, plaintive note of a catbird lower 
down the shore fell on the air with the relief that 
comes from a sound that breaks a silence which has 
grown tedious, if not wearisome. As if not to be 
outdone by this feathered wide-awake of the scene, 
a belated thrush sent forth its pipings uncommonly 


THE WOODRANGER 'S LAST STAND 179 

shrill and loud. This was followed by the dull 
tu-whit of an owl, located somewhere, according to 
its call, close to the water’s edge. 

The last two cries brought a smile to the features 
of the Woodranger, and framed upon his lips were 
the murmured words: 

“ Mebbe the birds have lost their cunning, but 
sich' is not common among the creatures o’ night. 
Now I’ve minded it — ” 

The sharp howl of a distant wolf came down the 
mountainside as the forester spoke, but neither the 
cry of the wolf nor his speech found its complete- 
ness, for at that moment such a medley of yells and 
shrieks as only the North American Indians could 
utter drowned all other notes and cries, making the 
night-scene hideous with its fiendish noise. 

The battle was on again, and there would be no 
turning back of its tide till the sea had run dry! 

Knowing the deadly purpose of this attack, the 
Woodranger stood defiantly at bay, old Danger 
cocked and primed for the opening of the fight. 
Nor was the suspense long. As near as he could 
tell, a score of Huron warriors, with a sprinkling 
of Iroquois, swarmed into the narrow passage, and 
discharging a volley of bullets up the path, rushed 
furiously forward. 

The Woodranger waited until certain of his vic- 
tim, the foremost of his enemies, and then he fired. 


l80 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

This chief had barely fallen before a shot from the 
pine felled the companion beside him. Half a 
dozen shots were fired in retaliation by the Indians, 
while they dashed madly over the bodies of their 
dead comrades in their wild haste to reach the foe- 
man who was all the more to be dreaded because 
out of sight. 

By this time the Woodranger had reloaded his 
weapon, and its deadly contents was quickly sent 
into their midst. While the yell of this warrior 
was yet ringing on the air above the exultant shouts 
of his companions and the hue and cry of the fight, 
a singular thing happened. 

Some of the Indians, in their fierce determination 
to gain the summit, had scaled the rocky barrier 
on the right of the path, and so surely did they 
accomplish this purpose that they climbed over the 
rough wall, and were passing the range of the fatal 
firing of the Woodranger, when a huge boulder 
setting edgewise in their pathway was overturned 
by their movements. With a loud crash this fell 
upon the leaders of those climbing by the regular 
path. 

A few of these were crushed by the stone, while 
their companions beat a precipitate retreat, giving 
expression to their fears by prolonged exclamations 
of terror. 

In this manner the Woodranger was given an 


THE WO ODRA NGER 'S LAST STAND l8l 

unexpected respite, which he improved by reloading 
his gun.. 

The loosening and displacement of the big 
boulder left a clearer way for the more adventur- 
ous of the red men, and these now flung themselves 
headlong upon the besieged forester. He emptied 
the contents of his firearm into their midst, and 
then, having no further time to reload and finding 
the enemies pressing upon him so closely, he pre- 
pared for a final stand — a hand-to-hand combat, 
which he knew could not last long. 

The Indians who had been temporarily discom- 
fited by the falling rock now rallied to the assist- 
ance of their companions. 

The firing from the pine had ceased, nor did it 
figure any more in the unequal contest, where one 
brave, unflinching spirit was pitted against a dozen 
or more of demons. 

Boldly taking his stand at the side of the path, 
the hero of a hundred fights, believing this was to 
be his last, resolved to make his death as dear as 
possible to his enemies. One, two, three of them 
went to rise no more, but might is certain to con- 
quer sometimes where even the most cunning arm 
cannot win. Trampling under feet the bodies of 
the slain, two brawny Hurons reached the side of 
the Woodranger with uplifted tomahawks. An- 
other was tugging at his back, and among them the 


182 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


forester fell, overpowered, but not conquered, for 
a brief while. And then the foremost reached, with 
an exultant yell, for that scalp-lock worth to him 
all the lives that had been lost in the bitter fight for 
it! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


BEN AND THE SERGEANT 

It will be remembered that at the close of Chap- 
ter XV., we left Ben Browne in the hottest of the 
fight near the shore of the Horican just as he had 
been felled by a blow on the head. He was not in- 
sensible long, for he was quickly brought back to 
consciousness by feeling the pressure of a hand 
upon his head and the steely touch of a knife. 

He uttered a cry of horror as he realized that he 
was being scalped alive by the dusky foe bending 
over him, and he tried to spring to his feet. 

The Iroquois, not to be cheated so easily of his 
coveted trophy, gave expression to a fierce exclama- 
tion, and flinging him back upon the earth, lifted 
his knife to deal a blow which should in reality end 
the opposition of his victim. Ben closed his eyes, 
never expecting to open them again upon the scenes 
of this life. 

He then had a sort of hazy consciousness of 
hearing a voice in stern command ringing above 
the medley of confusing cries, and the next he 
knew he was lying several feet away quite alone. 

183 


184 


WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 


In the brief interval he had caught sight of the 
handsome, striking countenance of a man in middle 
life, whom he thought must be a French officer. 
But as soon as this person had driven away the 
Indian who had attacked him, he sprang back to 
the conflict, leaving Ben to shift for himself. 

To the young Ranger this seemed the wildest, 
most terrible scene he had ever witnessed. But 
even from his situation he could see that the enemy 
were getting the best of the British and Mohawks. 
The surprise had been so complete that the latter 
had been quickly bewildered, and the whole body 
recoiled with a confusion that completely changed 
its position. A rout instantly followed, and those 
who had been in the lead of the train were now in 
the rear! 

Some of the New England troops rallied, and 
under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Whiting 
covered the retreat, contesting the pursuing French 
and Iroquois after the tactics of Indian warfare 
by firing from behind trees, and dodging from one 
tree to another as they were driven back. 

General Johnson, hearing the firing at the camp, 
and anticipating something of what had happened, 
sent a relief force to the assistance of the others. 
These troops did good work, but the tide of battle 
had already turned beyond stemming, and they 


BEN AND THE SEDGE ANT 1 85 

could only join with those who were endeavouring 
to make as effective a retreat as was possible. 

After a little while the firing grew more and 
more scattered and desultory, until it had practically 
ceased. Then Ben heard the blare of trumpets 
sounded by the French commander to recall his 
scattered forces. 

Seeing his gun lying a few feet away, the young 
Ranger, weak and stiffened by his recent experi- 
ences, started toward it, thinking it was time for 
him to be getting away. 

But he had only managed to get possession of his 
musket, when a voice near at hand ordered him to 
desist. 

“ I wouldn’t let the red tear off your scalp-lock, 
but I am not going to let you run away, my fine 
fellow.” 

Ben recognized the same officer who had come so 
opportunely to his rescue a few minutes before, 
and realizing that he was completely in his power, 
he resolved to surrender as gracefully as possible. 

“ I am at your command, sir, seeing I can do no 
better than yield.” 

“ See that he is securely bound, and taken to the 
rear,” commanded the officer. 

“ Very well, Lieutenant Berne,” replied one of 
the soldiers who was ordered to do this work. Five 
minutes later Ben was a prisoner, and removed 


1 86 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


from the centre of the bitter hostilities. In fact, the 
furious fighting was over for awhile. The “ bloody 
morning scout/’ as that unfortunate and deadly 
affair became known in New England story, was 
over. But its sequel was yet to follow, a fitting 
climax to the savage beginning. 

General Johnson, seeing now his mistake in not 
fortifying his position upon the shore of the lake 
before, began to make such preparations for a de- 
fence as he could. Trees were felled from the 
near-by forest and dragged in; many of the ba- 
teaux which had been built for another purpose 
were made to help in constructing the barricade, 
and wagons did their part in this hasty line of pro- 
tection. 

Though working like beavers, the New England 
soldiers had barely raised this imperfect barricade 
before the white-coated enemy were seen marching 
down the road. Fortunately for them, Dieskau 
was unable to rally his dusky allies, who were 
.ranging the woods and lake shore, shouting and 
firing like so many madmen let loose. Both the 
sagacious Hendrick and the subtle St. Pierre gone, 
the deluded and excited red men had no one to in- 
fuse- order and system into their work, until Ben, 
who had been left on a slight elevation of land 
where he could witness the whole scene, saw Lieu- 
tenant Berne dash forward where they were skulk- 


BEN AND THE SERGEANT 1 87 

mg and acting the worst. His presence, not less 
than his stern fiery words of command, acted like 
magic upon them. 

The Iroquois and Hurons again brought under 
control, 'and Lieutenant Berne now their leader, 
Dieskau began his attack, and for four long, ter- 
rible hours the battle raged. It was, as one of its 
participants said, “ the most awful day my eyes 
ever beheld. There seemed to be nothing but thun- 
der and lightning and perpetual pillars of smoke.” 
Time and again Ben closed his eyes to shut out the 
terrible sight, and then he would tug at his bonds 
in the hope he might get free to join in the bloody 
fray. 

There was no disputing any man's heroism that 
day, for French and English, and better yet the 
sturdy New Englander, one and all fought with 
sheer desperation. A Mohawk warrior within the 
English fortifications, having shivered his own fire- 
arm, seeing a Canadian on the enemy's side of the 
barricade with a gun, leaped the breastworks, and, 
killing the other with a single blow from his toma- 
hawk, seized his gun and powder-horn and regained 
the inside of the defence in safety. To the shame 
of his comrades, few imitated his example, while 
the Indians under Lieutenant Berne rallied in fitful 
attacks, only to retreat to the cover of the growth. 

General Johnson had three cannons, which more 


1 88 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

than all else carried terror to the Indians. With all 
his vaunted bravery, the red man could never over- 
come his fear for the thunder of the white man’s 
gun. Thus the cannon was an object of especial 
dread to him. 

Finally Dieskau, who fought valiantly through- 
out the struggle, was shot in the leg. Unable to 
keep about longer, he was having his wounded 
limb dressed by his adjutant, when he received a 
second and more severe wound in the hip. 

Seeing his soldiers beginning to fall back, and 
realizing that the crucial moment was at hand, he 
said to his impromptu surgeon: 

“ Leave me, Montreuil, and rally the regulars 
for a final charge against the British camp. We 
must carry their works, but we must do it without 
these cowardly Canadians and useless red men.” 

Adjutant Montreuil tried to retrieve a battle al- 
ready lost. The New England men were even then 
scaling the hasty breastworks they had constructed, 
and hurling themselves upon the French and their 
allies. The latter broke and fled in wild disorder, 
leaving their disabled commander sitting under the 
tree, a helpless witness of his defeat. 

While this was taking place, Ben Browne was 
surprised by a sniff a short distance away. There 
was something familiar in the sound, and turning 


BEN AND THE SEE GE ANT 1 89 

his surprise changed to joy, when he beheld the 
Sergeant. 

“Noble old fellow!” exclaimed the young 
Ranger, “ how I would pat you if my hands were 
free. Say, Sergeant, can’t you free them for me ? ” 

The dog heard and understood so far that he at 
once began to bite and gnaw at the deerskin thongs. 
With his sharp teeth it was but the work of a mo- 
ment for him to rend the ligatures, and Ben, to his 
great joy, found himself free. 

It was now nearly night, and without loss of 
time, Ben started on a run to what he considered 
a quarter of greater safety. At first he had thought 
of going to the camp, but remembering that his gun 
had been left a short distance away near where he 
had been captured, he went in that direction, hoping 
to find it, Sergeant keeping him company. 

The dog seemed as glad to see him as an old 
friend could be, and kept jumping up beside him, 
licking his hands, and giving expression to his joy 
in low, soft barks. 

The firing of the men on both sides had become 
more irregular, and Ben judged the fight was prac- 
tically over. He felt confident the New England 
men had won, or at least repulsed and driven back 
the allied enemies. 

“ Good Sergeant, where have you been ? How 
did you come out with those Indians in the canoe? ” 


igO WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

If Ben expected a reply there was no time given 
for it. He had not fairly finished his question be- 
fore the Sergeant suddenly leaped into the air, 
sniffed vigorously for a moment, and then darted 
away into the depths of the forest at a swift pace. 

At a loss what to make of this conduct on the 
part of Sergeant, who was not given to such actions 
without good cause, Ben resolved to follow him as 
closely as possible. This he did, though not with- 
out many misgivings. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE SCOUTS OF THE HORICAN 

Rushing through the forest with more haste 
than caution, it was a wonder, as Ben recalled his 
actions afterward, that he was not discovered by 
the Indians or Canadians and killed. The best solu- 
tion to the thought was that those of them who 
had not previously escaped were as anxious as he 
to leave the vicinity. 

He had gone about a hundred rods when he be- 
came aware of the fact that he was approaching 
a body of men coming through the growth, and he 
had so nearly stumbled upon them that the next 
moment he heard the low, but stern, command to 
halt. It is needless to say that he did this as quickly 
as he could, and though he trembled lest he had 
fallen into the hands of enemies, he thought there 
was a familiar ring to the voice. Throwing up his 
hands, to show that he meditated no hostility, he 
waited anxiously for the next move on the part of 
his unseen challenger. 

“Who are you?” demanded the same voice. 


192 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


Recognizing it this time beyond doubt, he ex- 
claimed, joyously: 

“ A friend, Captain Folsom.’’ 

“ Good Lord ! ” exclaimed another voice near at 
hand, “ it is Ben Browne, who was reported as 
killed.” 

Ben was soon made aware of the fact that he 
had run upon a scouting party from Fort Lyman 
on its way to the assistance of General Johnson. 
It seemed that William Stark had succeeded in 
reaching the fort, and upon his alarm preparations 
were made to sally forth to the scene of the fight. 
He was with the party, which numbered about three 
hundred, and at this time he and Sergeant were 
enjoying a reunion that showed how sincerely the 
couple loved each other. The Ranger had clasped 
his four-footed friend in his arms, and was hugging 
and patting him, while he talked as he would have 
talked to a child. 

“ Seen some hard times, have you, Sergeant ? 
Well, we won’t be separated again, old boy; no — 
no! Glad to see your old master? Tut — tut! 
get down, lad, there is work for us to do.” 

Scouts sent out to reconnoitre had now returned, 
announcing that a body of Indians were resting 
a little ways ahead, and near a pool of water close 
by the road. They were believed to greatly out- 
number the Rangers, but little did the latter care 


THE SCOUTS OF THE HO RICAN 


193 


for that. It was of more importance to them 
that they surprised the others in their fancied se- 
curity. So, without longer delay, the entire party 
moved stealthily down through the forest to the 
rendezvous of the unsuspecting Indians. 

Never was surprise more complete. The red men 
did not dream of the presence of an enemy creeping 
upon them, until the word was passed along the 
irregular line of Rangers: 

“ Fire ! ” 

Oh! what noise and confusion, what hurrying 
and skurrying there was then ! The Indians under- 
took to return the open volley, but they fired at 
random. There was no one at first to lead them, 
and a body of men without a leader is helpless. 
With the Iroquois and Hurons were a body of 
Canadian militia, who did better, rallying twice to 
try and beat back the foe. Captain McGinnis, one 
of the leaders of the Rangers, was mortally 
wounded, though he pluckily kept up, giving order 
after order until the enemies were routed. He was 
then taken to the camp, where he died soon after 
reaching the place. 

Ben and Lieutenant Stark, with Sergeant, were 
on the extreme right, and were doing good work, 
when a French officer, trying to rally the Indians, 
was seen to stagger and fall to the earth. A moment 
later his discomfited followers broke and fled in 


i 9 4 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


disorder, some of them passing over him in their 
flight. 

Upon reaching the place, and seeing that the man 
was alive, one of the Rangers was about to fire 
pointblank at his breast, when Ben saw and recog- 
nized the officer. 

It was Lieutenant Berne! 

Remembering the favour the Frenchman had 
done for him that day, Ben sprang forward and, 
pushing aside the weapon of his companion, stood 
over the fallen man, crying sharply : 

“ Spare him! He is my friend.” 

Ben knew he was taking some chances in doing 
this, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the 
Ranger pass on without offering further molesta- 
tion. The Canadians and Indians were now scat- 
tered through the forest, and the fighting seemed 
to be over. In truth it was, and a sorry sight was 
displayed upon the field where the rivals had fought. 
While the Rangers had not suffered the loss of 
many lives, the allied forces had not escaped so 
easily, and to this day the little pool of water upon 
whose banks the battle, the third of that day, took 
place, is known by the gruesome name of “ Bloody 
Pond.” The fugitives managed to get together in 
small parties in the early part of the evening, and 
they camped that night in the woods. The follow- 
ing day they succeeded in reaching their canoes, 



“‘SPARE HIM! HE IS MY FRIEND.’” 




















































































































































THE SCOUTS OF THE HORIC AN 1 95 

when they silently and sadly retraced their course 
toward Fort Carillon. The battle of Lake George, 
as it became known, was certainly a hopeless be- 
ginning for the French invasion. 

Ben found Lieutenant Berne wounded, but not 
severely. The French officer recognized the young 
Ranger, and his first words were: 

“ Haye the French been routed?” 

“ Yes, sir. That is, they have been routed here, 
and I judge the battle has gone against them every- 
where.” 

“ I am glad of it! ” exclaimed the officer, some- 
what to the surprise of Ben. Then he added : “ I 
suppose that sounds strange to you, but I have no 
love for them, and was serving them under com- 
pulsion. I suppose I must consider myself a pris- 
oner of war ? ” 

“ Captain Folsom is in command here, sir, and it 
will be as he says. But you need not fear any but 
fair treatment.” 

“ Thank you. If I must submit to the inevitable, 
I will do so with as good a grace as possible. But 
the delay it will incur will be very disagreeable and 
inconvenient to me. I had not looked for it. Are 
you a stranger in this vicinity?” 

“ I am, Lieutenant Berne. I belong to a regi- 
ment of troops stationed at Fort Lyman.” 

“I see.” 


196 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

At that moment the commander of the troops, 
accompanied by William Stark, came along and 
Lieutenant Beme was ordered to be taken to Gen- 
eral Johnson’s camp. From that time Ben saw no 
more of the genial Frenchman, whom he had 
grown in that short time to like. 

The Rangers, who had become considerably 
scattered during the fight, as was usually the case in 
bush-fighting, soon began to collect, and while all 
felt very sad over the fate of Captain McGinnis 
and many of their comrades, all felt like rejoicing. 
The rout at Bloody Pond had seemed a fitting com- 
pletion of the fight upon the shore of the lake, and 
General Johnson had good reason to give them 
a large meed of the praise for the victory. Yet, 
as was generally the result, he secured most of the 
glory for himself, and was created a baronet for 
a victory over which personally he had little credit 
in winning. 

Baron Dieskau was taken to New York, and 
thence to England, finally recovering from his 
wounds. The French could not feel otherwise than 
disappointed over the result, though they went on 
fortifying at Carillon and elsewhere with redoubled 
energy, still confident of achieving ultimate success. 

Later Ben learned that Lieutenant Berne was 
also sent to England as a prisoner of war. But he 
quite forgot the French officer at the time, in his 


THE SCOUTS OF THE HO RICAN 


19 7 


anxiety to return to Lookout Point to the assist- 
ance of the Woodranger and the others besieged 
at the stone house. 

As soon as the Rangers had somewhat recov- 
ered from the excitement of the conflict he sought 
out Captain Rogers to explain the situation. The 
Ranger chief listened with interest. 

“ The Woodranger must be rescued at once, and 
I will detail a squad under Lieutenant Stark to 
start as soon as possible. Of course you will 
go?” 

“ I wish to. I am afraid, from my experiences 
coming across the lake, the old man is having a 
tight time of it.” 

“ I’ll risk him,” replied Rogers. “ At least I 
never saw the Woodranger in a plaqe yet he 
couldn’t get out of, and I have tramped with him 
as boy and man twenty odd years.” 

“ Still I am afraid he will not be able to hold 
out in a siege until we can get there.” 

So Ben chafed at the delay in getting started, 
though the start was made as speedily as could be. 
The men needed a little rest after their recent hot 
work, but while they were sleeping others obtained 
a bateau to convey the party across the pond, and 
at last the impatient Ben, who had been through 
enough during the last twenty-four hours to have 
exhausted a less strong frame, gladly saw the boat 


198 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


pushed off from the shore, and the passage of the 
Horican begun. 

“What if we are too late?” asked Ben, while 
he and Lieutenant Stark looked anxiously ahead 
over the water, and recalling his experiences the 
previous night. 

“ We started as soon as we could,” replied Stark. 

“ Very true, but I was a long time in carrying 
the news,” 

“ According to what I hear, it might have been 
much longer,” replied the other. “ What is it, 
Sergeant — a redskin? I had rather have that 
dog for a companion on an expedition like this 
than any man I ever knew, and I’ll not except the 
Woodranger. He will scent a red a mile away. 
See! He has lain down again; as long as he is 
quiet you may feel safe.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

INDIAN PLUME’S VIGIL 

While the scenes described in the preceding 
chapters were taking place there were others who 
were performing an anxious part, and awaiting 
with intense interest the result. These were the 
three persons in the stone house, situated only a 
short distance from the Woodranger, and yet 
separated from him. 

After the departure of Ben Browne, Indian 
Plume, requesting Mrs. Briant and Alex to sleep 
while they might, took her position at one of the 
windows, where she could command a wide view 
of the lake. She saw the young Ranger leave the 
shore, and his canoe was visible to her for some 
time after it had passed beyond the sight of the 
forester on the rocky rim skirting the water. 

“ He is a brave young man,” she said to herself, 
“ but he is going into deadly danger. How I 
dread this war! If father were only here I should 
not be so timid. I wonder where he is to-night! 
Shall I ever see him again ? ” 

Finally she turned for a few moments to gaze 

199 


200 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


upon the twain who had come so strangely under 
her care. The woman, worn out with her recent 
hardships, was sleeping very peacefully. But 
Alex was tossing on his couch unable to rest. She 
crossed the floor, and sitting upon a stool she drew 
up for that purpose, she placed her hand on his 
feverish brow. 

The touch of her hand instantly revived him, 
and he opened his eyes with a look of pleasure. 
Startled at what she had done she moved away 
from him. 

“ Please put your hand back there,” he said, 
softly. “ It is so cool, and my head feels so hot. 
I cannot close my eyes without again seeing that 
scene on the water when mother and I were at- 
tacked and captured. Is she asleep ? ” 

“ Yes. You will do well to sleep while you can. 
There may be reason by and by for you to be 
awake.” 

“ I cannot sleep, Indian Plume. Has that young 
man gone ? ” 

“ Yes. I have just watched him out of sight. 
I fear he will run into trouble.” 

“ Has the old man gone? ” 

“ He is at the foot of the cliff, where he is keep- 
ing watch for us. What a strange man ! He made 
me promise not to come down where he is as long 
as he is there. I promised for three days.” 


INDIAN PLUME'S VIGIL 


201 


“What is his name?” 

“ The young man called him Taconica, or some 
such a name. That is Indian for tree. I think he 
is very nice.” 

“ And I think you are very nice to be so kind 
to mother and me. What a lot of trouble we are 
making you.” 

“Not to be mentioned. I was so lonely here 
it seems nice to have some one to talk to.” 

“ How long have you lived here alone? ” 

“ It has been nearly two years since father went 
away. He promised to come back in a short time. 
Is two years a short time as my brother counts the 
months ? ” 

“ It would seem long to watch and wait. I hope 
he will come soon. If he does not you must go 
with us. We have lost our home, I know, but we 
will soon build another.” 

Alex watched her closely to note the effect of his 
words, wishing to speak more plainly, but knowing 
it would not be good taste for him to do so. Not 
now ; not then ! He reached out to clasp her hand, 
but she had already risen to her feet, and looking 
toward the door, she said : 

“ If my brother will remain here alone with his 
mother a few, minutes, Indian Plume will climb to 
the Lookout, where she has wanted to go for some 


202 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


time. She can see a long way, and no foe can come 
near without being seen by her.” 

“ She can go,” replied Alex, though not compre- 
hending the meaning of her words ; “ but the time 
will seem long while Indian Plume is gone.” 

Without replying to this she went to one side 
of the apartment, and pulling aside a bearskin 
hung against the wall disclosed a dark opening 
where the wall had been built against the side of 
the big pine which rose over the top of the house. 
In a moment she disappeared into the tree. 

Alex watched her departure, and as the folds 
of the bearskin covered again the aperture, he 
could not refrain from giving expression to an ex- 
clamation of wonder. His utterance awakened 
his mother, who asked, in a tone of anxiety: 

“ Did you speak to me, my son ? ” 

“No, mother! I merely ‘thought aloud/ as the 
Woodranger used to say. I hope you are feeling 
better.” 

“ Very much, Alex. My wound does not pain 
me much now. I think I have been sleeping quite 
awhile. I had such strange dreams, all jumbled 
together, persons and places. Where is that girl 
who came here with us ? ” 

Alex explained her mysterious disappearance, 
when mother and son fell to watching and waiting 
for her. 


INDIAN FLUME’S VIGIL 


203 


Meanwhile Indian Plume stood within the open 
space in the heart of the big pine, which was hol- 
low from its roots to a height of more than fifty 
feet. Immediately she began to ascend the side 
of the strange room by means of steps which had 
been ingeniously cut for that purpose. At a dis- 
tance of about twenty feet she gained a small plat- 
form built against the wall. At this place openings 
had been cut through the outer wall. These were 
small at the outside rim, but they had been cut away 
on the inside so as to allow the person looking out 
a wide view of the scene. The steps continued on 
higher above this resting-place, but Indian Plume 
did not seek to climb to their top at this time. 

Applying her eye to one of the loopholes, she 
gazed long and earnestly out upon the surround- 
ing landscape. From this position she could look 
down plainly upon the Woodranger, as he rested 
watchfully at his post. She also commanded a 
good view of the shore, while she could look far 
out over the water, across the lake if it had been 
daytime. 

“ How quiet it is ! ” she murmured. “ Father 
used to say such stillness was unnatural and boded 
evil of some kind.” Then her mind going back 
to other days, she said : “ What happy days those 
were! But they are gone for ever, and I do not 
know what will become of poor me. How selfish 


204 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


I am when there are so many others suffering, too. 
I must not forget that sweet-faced woman with 
me now, and that young man. He seems so nice. 
I wonder if there is as much trouble everywhere 
in the world as there is here by the beautiful Hori- 
can. It seems as if there never was a bright day 
for those who have lived within sight and sound 
of its shores. How many times have I listened 
to the stories of battle and cruel warfare waged 
against the race over which my mother was a 
queen. Where are they now ? Gone ! as the leaves 
of last year’s forest have flown, are they gone. 
And I, whom father delighted to crown when I 
was a child as the Princess of the Horican, am the 
last in whose veins flows the blood of the race. 
But I must not give way to my loneliness. Father 
said there was nothing so wrong. He did not for- 
get to smile. Is that a canoe upon the water? ” 

The question was the natural outburst of thought 
at the sudden discovery of what looked at first like 
a speck upon the starlighted Horican, but which 
grew rapidly in: size and clearness. In a few min- 
utes the fair watcher was satisfied that it was a 
canoe carrying half a dozen Indians. 

This was indeed the party the Woodranger even 
then was watching, and which made the first attack 
upon him. 

Anxious to know what the appearance of this 


INDIAN PLUME'S VIGIL 


20 5 


body of warriors meant, Indian Plume left her post 
only that she might disclose to Alex Briant her 
discovery. Confident that they were intending an 
attack upon the Lookout, she prepared to make 
such a defence as she could. She found upon in- 
vestigation that she had only a small allowance of 
powder. She had two firearms, one a weapon of 
French make, lighter than those carried by the 
English and New England men, and the other a 
heavier gun her father had obtained from a trader 
in Montreal, but which had come from the shop 
of one Seth Pomeroy, a noted gunmaker of those 
days. This was an excellent piece, and with these 
two weapons she resolved to lend such assistance 
as she could to the lone scout stationed on the 
shore. 

How well she did this has been told, but the 
anxiety and painful suspense of that night and the 
following day cannot be described without taking 
too much space. The most anxious one of the three 
in the stone house was Mrs. Briant, while Alex 
could not help chafing at his inability to lend his 
aid during that time when it was needed so much. 
Indian Plume assured both that the white man at 
the foot of the cliff was quite able to take care of all 
that had come to offer molestation, disclaiming 
any credit for what she was doing. 

During the day, while there were no signs of an 


20 6 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


enemy near, Alex urged her to confer with the 
Woodranger, but resolved to keep her promise to a 
letter, nothing that he could say or do could cause 
her to do differently. She had a small quantity 
of provision, and water from a spring in the side 
of the mountain had been made to flow into the 
building, so in the matter of provision they had 
no reason to be fearful. In that respect at least 
they were better off than the Woodranger. 

Indian Plume saw that the wound of Mrs. Briant 
received such attention as it needed, while she made 
her as comfortable as possible. 

But of keener and deeper significance than all 
this was the sight the brave maid witnessed from 
the upper lookout in the old pine. This was noth- 
ing less than a bird’s-eye view of the battle raging 
upon the distant shore of the Horican. The thun- 
der of the guns and the clouds of smoke told her 
that a desperate fight was going on — a fight which 
she felt was to decide in a large measure their own 
fates. 

She saw the sun sink out of sight in the west, 
behind pillars of ashen smoke, and night once more 
settle gloomily upon the scene. Ignorant of the 
result of the battle, and weary from her long and 
lonely vigil, the Princess of the Horican slowly de- 
scended to her companions in the stone house. 

She found these anxiously awaiting her com- 


INDIAN PLUME'S VIGIL 20 ? 

in g, and they listened with deep interest to her 
story. 

“ Do you think the Indians will come to-night, 
Indian Plume ?” asked Alex, as she sat near him 
and his mother at the close of her account. 

“ That is more than I can tell. We can only 
pray that they will not come. I have only two 
rounds of powder left, a charge for each of the 
guns/’ 

“Have you seen anything of the old scout?” 

“Yes; he has stood on watch all day. I am 
sure he has not closed his eyes in sleep since he 
took up his post there.” 

“ Neither have you for all that time,” said Alex. 
“ You are tired. Please lie down and sleep awhile, 
if it is only for an hour. I can watch. If my couch 
was only nearer that window.” 

“ Perhaps I will sleep an hour, Mr. Briant, if 
you will promise to speak to me then.” 

“If you think I must. I don’t see why the old 
man has not been up here to see us to-day.” 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE RESCUE 

Indian Plume awoke very much refreshed after 
an hour’s peaceful sleep. She hastened at once 
,to the lookout, but discovered no signs of an enemy. 
The Woodranger was still at his post, as alert as 
ever, and while she watched him for a moment 
she murmured : 

“ A strange man. To-morrow I shall see him.” 

She returned to her friends with the welcome 
tidings that nothing of a suspicious nature was to 
be seen, and the little group fondly hoped they 
would not be troubled by the appearance of the 
Indians again. 

With frequent visits by Indian Plume to her 
lookout, and snatches of conversation among them- 
selves, the three passed the hours leading on toward 
midnight. The maid of the Horican: was now con- 
stantly at her post, so she saw the canoes of the 
enemies before the Woodranger, and her hopes 
fell. Hastening below to convey the unpleasant 
news to her companions, she exclaimed : 

“ I fear we are lost ! They come many more 
208 


THE RESCUE 


209 


this time, and I know more determined to kill us 
than before.” 

“ I must be astir,” said Alex, starting up, only 
to fall back upon his couch overcome by his ex- 
ertions. 

“Not that!” cried Indian Plume. “You must 
keep quiet. I was foolish to speak so. I was weak, 
like a woman. They cannot get us here. I feel 
very sure. The old man is a good fighter, and he 
will never let them pass him.” 

“ But you said you had only two charges of 
powder, and you must remember it was your shots 
that helped him before.” 

“ When my powder is gone, if there is need of 
it, I shall go down and help him fight them back.” 

Her dark eyes flashed, and her every action 
showed that she was terribly in earnest. 

“You must not!” cried Alex. “Think of the 
danger. No — no ! let the old scout stand his 
ground as long as he can. If they reach here, we 
will fight them hand-to-hand. I will help, if I have 
to do it on my hands and knees.” 

She made no reply, but the look upon her 
features told that she had decided upon her course 
of action, and nothing that might be said could 
turn her from it. Swiftly she mounted the steps 
to the lookout, and upon gaining the loophole 
found that the enemies were rapidly drawing near 


210 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


to the shore. She saw also that the forester was 
preparing for the fight that was inevitable. What 
followed has been described. Indian Plume fired 
the two shots in her weapons, and realized she had 
done all she could there. She saw the onset made 
by the enemies, and saw the brave man who was so 
nobly defending her and the others fall. She could 
not stop to 1 witness more, and catching up one of 
her empty guns, she was about to start to the scene 
of the contest, when she made a discovery which 
sent a thrill of hope to her heart. During the ex- 
citing action in the pathway, another boat had ap- 
peared upon the lake, and now was drawing close 
to the shore. 

Indian Plume saw that this was a bateau carry- 
ing six or eight men, whom she quickly decided 
were whites coming to the rescue. With a cry 
of joy she rushed below, saying to Alex as she 
reached the room: 

“ Good news ! Friends are coming to our res- 
cue/’ 

Without waiting for him to reply, with the real- 
ization of the Woodranger’s peril in her mind, and 
regardless of what the consequence might be to 
her, she flung open the door and sped to the scene 
of deadly combat. 

The bateau Indian Plume had discovered com- 
ing with such haste toward the shore was indeed 


THE RESCUE 


2 1 1 


that containing the little party of Rangers under 
William Stark, who at that moment sat in the prow 
of the boat looking anxiously ahead to learn if 
possible the result of the fight he knew was being 
waged on the rocky point where the path started 
to the Lookout. With him, of course, were Ben, 
Philip, the friendly Sokokis, and Sergeant, who 
crouched beside his master during the anxious jour- 
ney across the lake. Besides these there were four 
comrades. 

“ Row faster, boys ! ” cried Stark, excitedly. 
“ I am afraid the old Woodranger will not be able 
to hold out until we get there.” 

The Sergeant sniffed the air, as if he was of 
the same opinion, and he rose upon his feet. Read- 
ing his thoughts, for the brave dog must have done 
some deep thinking during that momentous period, 
his master said : 

“ You can go if you want to, old fellow.” 

With a low murmur of gladness Sergeant quickly 
lifted himself clear of the boat, and the next mo- 
ment was swimming swiftly through the water, 
moving faster than the clumsy boat in spite of the 
efforts of the men at the oars. 

Stark watched the brave swimmer for a moment, 
and then he turned his gaze back to the scene dimly 
exhibited in the uncertain light of the stars, where 
one man was pitted against many in that unequal 


212 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


fight for life. They were now near to the shore, 
and just at that moment Indian Plume stepped 
from the stone house upon her anxious descent to 
the assistance of the forester. 

Quicker than any human person in that exciting 
moment was the gallant Sergeant. His feet touched 
the rocky beach as the brave maid opened the door, 
and without stopping to shake his sides of the drip- 
ping water, he bounded up the path at tremendous 
leaps, with a yelp of defiance and encouragement 
to him whom he was trying to save. The Indians 
— those in his pathway — were dashed aside as 
if they were so many toys set up for the sport of 
schoolboys. Speeding past and over them, he 
reached the side of the Woodranger just as the 
brawny Iroquois was about to lift his scalp. He 
never knew what struck him, what power hurled 
him upon the rock a quivering frame of humanity 
in the dusky skin of a barbarian. But the spark 
of life quickly fled, while the dog scattered his 
companions as a fierce gust of wind might toss a 
handful of leaves. 

As the poor, terrified red men fled in wild con- 
fusion, some down the pathway, evidently thinking 
some invincible creature had suddenly sprung into 
their midst, they were met by a volley of shot 
from Stark and his companions. A few escaped 


THE RESCUE 


213 


by leaping- into the water, but the most of them 
fell before the unerring fire of the Rangers. 

The following minute the bateau touched upon 
the rocky bottom of the lake, and its occupants 
sprang out upon the shore, Stark leading the way in 
a headlong run up the path. 

They reached the central scene in this exciting 
performance simultaneously with Indian Plume, 
who paused somewhat alarmed at their appearance, 
but more from that of the Sergeant, who stood 
fiercely at bay beside the motionless form of the 
fallen Woodranger. 

“ Well done, Sergeant ! ” called out Stark, 
springing forward to see if the forester was dead, 
as he feared. The dog retreated slightly before his 
master, but stoutly held his position against any 
further encroachment. 

Ben Browne had followed next to Stark in the 
dash up the pathway, and seeing the fair young 
Crusoe of the Horican looking excitedly over the 
scene, he said: 

“ I was a long time in coming back, Indian 
Plume, but I came as soon as I could get here.” 

“ I understand,” she replied. “ I hope you have 
come in season to save him,” pointing to the Wood- 
ranger. 

Stark was already advancing to see if the forester 
was living or not, but before he could reach his 


214 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


side he was very forcibly answered, for the other 
rose slowly to his feet, saying : 

“ Aweel, now’s me ! I count that an amazement 
that ties two knots in the string o’ fate. It was 
a clus call, lads, a clus call for the ol’ man, and 
your coming was a coming after my own heart. 
Yet I’m minded if it hadn’t been for the dog this 
ol’ head would be without its saving grace, as bald 
as an eagle’s. I hoi’ that as a favour for the 
dog.” 

“ Sergeant never fails to be on hand, Wood- 
ranger,” said Stark, “ and we rejoice no less than 
you that he was in season. You have had a tough 
fight?” 

“ A bit o’ an amazement, lad. I opine the brown- 
faces feel the worst about it.” 

“ By the crown of King George, Woodranger! 
it does look as if you had given old Danger a 
hearty dinner. Has any one been hurt ? ” 

“ Ask the lass there, William. I have been too 
tremendous busy to ask myself.” 

Indian Plume quickly apprised Stark and his 
companions of the situation at the Lookout, when 
the former said: 

“ It seems we came none too soon. It must 
have been a sorry time. But that is over now. We 
have come to take you all to Albany, as it will not 
do for you to stay here any longer. In Albany 


THE RESCUE 


215 


you will be comparatively safe until this war is 
over/’ 

“ You had better move Mr. Briant and his 
mother there,” said Indian Plume. “ As for my- 
self, I prefer to remain at my home.” 

“ That will not do,” replied Stark, in his ener- 
getic manner. “ It will be unsafe for you to stay 
here longer. Why, the lake is alive with French 
and Indians, and they say more are coming. When 
the war is over you can come back if you wish, 
but as commander here for the present, I shall 
insist that you go to Albany. Come, boys,” speak- 
ing to Ben and a couple of the others, “ let’s go 
up to the house.” 

There did not seem to be an opportunity for the 
maid of the Horican who had lived a Crusoe life 
here so long to refuse this impetuous Ranger. So 
she was fain to lead the way to the top of the 
plateau, followed by the others. Upon seeing that 
the Woodranger was not inclined to accompany 
them, Lieutenant Stark asked him to do so. 

“ Nay, lad, these oF feet be too earth-tied to 
climb yon path. Go, you have the fire o’ youth, 
and the ol’ man will stay with the watch here. I 
ne’er dissemble the truth when I say that more’n 
eight and forty hours without sleep has laid heavy 
hands on these oF eyes and ’numbed limbs none 
too sprightly at their best.” 


21 6 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ Forgive me, Woodranger ! ” exclaimed Stark, 
“ I had forgotten, that. Rest while you may. 
There are blankets in the bateau; help yourself. 
You will find food, too. Eat and rest, while we 
prepare the others for the journey across the lake.” 

The forester made no reply to this invitation, 
but stood leaning heavily on the upturned muzzle 
of his firearm, looking after the retreating forms 
of those climbing the path. Finally he said, com- 
muning with himself : 

“ Three times did he trail that name, and I do 
not previcate the truth. And they are coming 
down here! By and by it may be — not now! 
There is yet a tremble in the heart and fog in the 
een, which forbids the ol’ man from taking that 
trail. Let him sleep upon the idee. There is a 
saving grace in sleep, and then — Mebbe I’ll 
perambulate a leetle way by myself. You may call 
it a whim ; ay, an ol’ man’s whim — a whimmer’s 
whim — but I must talk these thoughts with my- 
self — alone with natur’.” 

Then the Woodranger, with a long, lingering, 
anxious look in the direction of the height where 
she and her son were at that moment thinking of 
him, his lips moving in silent prayer, walked slowly, 
wearily down the slanting pathway to the water’s 
edge. A canoe danced lightly upon the placid 
Horican, which he loosened from its fastenings, 


THE RESCUE 


217 


and springing in with a nimbleness quite at odds 
with his recent sluggish steps, he took up the pad- 
dle, to send the light craft swiftly from the land. 
It was but a speck upon the water when Stark re- 
turned to ask his advice about getting the fugitives 
down to the bateau. 

“ It is like him,” he said, when the Rangers, 
who had witnessed this singular departure of the 
forester, apprised him of the fact. “ Well, boys, it 
would be useless for us to lose any time in looking 
after him. We shall see him again in due time, 
mark my words. Now we must bring those people 
down here to the bateau.” 

Many hands make light work, and half an hour 
later both Mrs. Briant and Alex had been removed 
to the bateau, where they were made as comfort- 
able as possible. 

Indian Plume had been finally induced to accom- 
pany them to Albany, and without further loss of 
time, having seen that the stone dwelling was made 
as secure as possible, the entire party started on 
their journey to Albany, which they were destined 
to reach safely. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE BUGLE NOTE 

A cessation of hostilities followed the battle of 
Lake George, during which the enemies sought to 
reinforce their numbers, and prepare for more 
earnest work. General Johnson, having learned 
a lesson by his previous experiences, erected a fort 
at the head of Lake George, which he named after 
one of the princes of the reigning family of Eng- 
land, “ William Henry.’’ The walls of this forti- 
fication were made of timber, filled in with earth, 
and with a ditch surrounding it. It was square, 
with four bastions, and was considered capable of 
resisting a heavy cannonade. 

Rogers and his Rangers were stationed here, and 
frequently sent out upon scouts into the vicinity of 
the enemy’s strongholds, Ticonderoga and Crown 
Point. They usually followed the shore of the 
Horican or crossed its clear waters in canoes or ba- 
teaux. In winter these trips were made upon snow- 
shoes, when they sallied forth with their rations 
upon their backs, and their firearms in the hands. 

The Rangers were not organized to fight pitched 
battles, but for scouting and fighting bush-battles, 
218 


THE BUGLE NOTE 


219 


which were often sharp and exciting. Their real 
purpose was to scour the woods, find out the situ- 
ation and numbers of the enemy, and clear the way 
for the British Regulars, who were little used to 
this mode of warfare, and ill-fitted for it. It was 
their purpose, too, to see that these soldiers were 
not taken by surprise at the hands of an enemy 
noted for their cunning and peculiar ways of fight- 
ing. The preliminaries attended to, the Rangers 
joined in the battle, often appearing at most op- 
portune times, and changing the entire situation. 

If their object seemed so simple, their organi- 
zation was made with great elaboration and sys- 
tematic thoroughness, for their leading spirit, Cap- 
tain Rogers, was in his line of training one of the 
best disciplinarians of border warfare, and his 
drill was rigid and his discipline of the sternest sort. 

Upon their marches, many of which were long 
and made through the country of an artful enemy, 
the Rangers moved in Indian file, and at such dis- 
tances from each other as to avoid the danger of 
one bullet harming more than, one man. A leader 
took charge of those in front, while another 
guarded the rear of each column. 

Camp was never pitched until after dark, and 
then only when the surrounding country had been 
thoroughly reconnoitred, and a position selected 
which would enable them to command a view on 


220 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


every side. The scouts sent out to reconnoitre 
were instructed never to return by the path taken 
in going- out. The failure of a couple of scouts to 
do this in one of their campaigns led to one of the 
few defeats suffered by the indomitable Rogers. 

The devices and stratagems employed by these 
hardy partisans were many and often elaborate, 
but always skilfully managed and cunningly 
planned. If brought face to face with the enemy, 
upon receiving the fire of their foes they dropped 
flat to the earth, rising the moment the shots had 
died away, to pour a deadly charge upon them. 
Few shots were ever wasted. Their more common 
method of fighting, however, was to advance from 
tree to tree, now crawling prone upon the earth, 
anon dodging from cover to cover, resorting to 
innumerable ruses to outwit an enemy in whose 
school of warfare they had proved more apt than 
even their teachers. 

The typical Ranger, of which Rogers was the 
fitting chief, and William Stark and Ben Browne 
good examples, was a person of hardy constitution, 
inured to the privations and vicissitudes of forest 
life. He was able to make long marches upon 
scanty rations, sleep rolled in his blanket upon a pile 
of boughs, with only the night sky for his shelter. 
He knew the trails of the Indians as well as their or- 
dinary haunts, and was seldom, if ever, at fault in 


THE BUGLE NOTE 


221 


his judgment concerning the wiles and artifices of 
his dusky foemen. 

His garb consisted of coarse small-clothes and 
leggins upon the lower limbs, with a close-fitting 
jacket about his body, a warm cap upon his head, 
and pair of stout moccasins upon his feet. In his 
belt he carried a short-handled hatchet, and a good- 
sized hunting-knife, while he held in his hands or 
slung over his shoulder a heavy, trusty musket of 
the make of that day. A large powder-horn hung 
by his side, while upon his back was buckled a 
blanket and knapsack stuffed with a supply of coarse 
bread and raw salt pork. 

While it would be interesting to follow day by 
day the fortunes of our characters through the try- 
ing scenes that succeeded, it will not be necessary 
in order to gain the results arising from those 
adventures which affected them more closely in 
their after-life. As has been remarked, Mrs. Briant, 
Alex, and Indian; Plume were conveyed in safety to 
Albany, though it was a long and painful journey 
to at least two of them, the mother and son. The 
Princess of the Horican, too, cast many an anx- 
ious, pathetic look back toward that home which 
she had enjoyed, if in loneliness, so long. To her 
there was a deeper significance in thus going hastily 
away than her companions could realize. There 
was also a singular missing of an opportunity, such 


222 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


as often comes into our lives, and which was re- 
called afterward with regrets. But it was beyond 
their knowledge at the time, and was made in 
happy ignorance of the real situation. 

At this period of the contention war had not 
been officially declared — save the mark ! — but it 
was soon afterward, and the strife waxed fiercer 
and more hopeless for the English. Mrs. Briant 
and Indian Plume were only too glad to remain 
at Albany, where they could keep posted concerning 
the situation, but were in comparative safety. 
Alex’s wound healing, before the new year he joined 
the fortunes of Rogers’ Rangers, soon becoming 
one of the most efficient in the hazardous part they 
were acting. 

Many of the adventures of those trying months 
lengthened into years are told in a Journal kept 
by Captain, afterward Major, Rogers himself. 
During the following year over a dozen perilous 
scouts were made into the enemy’s vicinity, captives 
secured and valuable information taken back to the 
English commander. Ben and Alex were with 
many of these, meeting with some hairbreadth 
escapes and thrilling experiences. William Stark 
had now become the leader of a company, and was 
known as Lieutenant Stark. 

But the years 1756 and 1757 brought results that 
were humiliating to the English forces, mainly on 


THE BUGLE NOTE 


223 


account of incompetent leaders, frequent changes in 
these, and a lack of united action on the part of the 
New England colonies. 

In the midst of this came the siege and massacre 
of Fort William Henry, a dark stain upon French 
success. The Marquis de Montcalm, a brave and 
efficient officer, afterward associated with the down- 
fall of Quebec before the siege of General Wolfe, 
was in command of the French forces. Colonel 
Munro, a brave and gallant Scotchman, was in 
charge of the ill-fated fort at the time, but it was 
through no fault of his that it met with disaster. 
He acted a heroic part, but succour was not sent 
him, and the crushed old soldier was obliged to 
submit to the inevitable. 

As none of our friends figured to any great ex- 
tent in the unhappy affair, it is not necessary to 
try and depict any of its horrors here. The men 
from New England, who did not fall victims to 
their rapacious enemies, underwent an experience 
they remembered the balance of their lives. 

Early in 1758, General Abercrombie having suc- 
ceeded to the command of the English troops, plans 
were laid to capture the French fortifications about 
the lakes, while elsewhere Louisburg, on the Island 
of Cape Breton, 1 was to be retaken, and in the 
west Fort Du Quesne was to be captured. 

1 See the “ Young Gunbearer ” for account of this fort in 1745. 


2^4 with Rogers' rangers 

Rogers and his Rangers were making their head- 
quarters at Fort Edward, formerly known as Fort 
Lyman, early in the year 1758, when word came 
in that Captain Putnam 1 had been recalled from an 
extended scout into the region about the head of 
Lake Champlain, on account of several misadven- 
tures, not the least of which was the desertion of 
one of his men to the enemy’s ranks, carrying to 
them a statement of the numbers and condition of 
the English. 

Immediately Captain Rogers was ordered to 
place himself at the head of four hundred of his 
Rangers and march against the enemy located 
about Fort Carillon. Ever willing to carry out 
an order of this kind, the Ranger chief lost no time 
in preparing for his work, acting with his usual 
promptness. But he was disappointed to find that 
so many men could not be mustered for the occa- 
sion, and he finally found himself in command of 
less than two hundred men, including officers. 

Captain Rogers was extremely loath to enter 
upon this expedition, knowing the French had been 
apprised of this plan, and that they, with their 
Indian allies, were prepared to meet them. But 
the commander was determined he should go, and 
on the 10th of March the Rangers started on their 
perilous mission of trying to rout the enemy lying 

1 Israel Putnam of Horse-neck ride fame. 


THE BUGLE NOTE 


225 


in wait for them. Among them were our old 
friends Ben and Alex. Lieutenant William Stark’s 
company was very fortunately not included in this 
service. 

A little after nightfall the entire party went into 
camp on the east side of what was known as “ The 
First Narrows ” of the Horican. This was oppo- 
site the “ great toe ” of Tongue Mountain, and just 
below the entrance of the “ North Arm.” This is 
one of the most picturesque portions of the lake, 
the water being dotted with a prodigal hand with 
islands clothed then in their virgin forests. 

As soon as camp had been pitched Captain Rog- 
ers sent Ben in charge of a small party on a scout 
down the shore to see if any signs of the enemy 
could be found, it having been rumoured that a 
force was on its way to attack the English fort. 

Not daring to move down the lake upon their 
skates, as they would be more exposed to the ene- 
mies in the openings of the pond, the scouts moved 
silently under cover of the forest upon their snow- 
shoes, Ben himself leading the way. It was very 
dark and the dense undergrowth made their prog- 
ress tedious, but with the accustomed steadfastness 
of men trained for the work they kept steadily 
ahead, until their leader judged they had gone 
three miles, or as far as Captain Rogers had told 
him to go. 


226 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


They had now come to a little cove of water 
covered with its crystal top, but over the lake and 
the forest hung a silence which seemed to speak 
of the utter absence of a human being. No sign 
of the Indians had been discovered, and Ben was 
confident none were within the vicinity, and with 
this assurance from his comrades, he was about to 
turn back to the camp when the clear note of a 
bugle-horn fell softly on the evening air! 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A TREMENDOUS JOURNEY 

In a moment there came into Ben’s mind the 
memory of another day when the sound of that 
horn had fallen on his ears with promise of joy, 
and he quickly exclaimed: 

“ The Woodranger, or I am greatly mistaken ! ” 
“ So it must be, Ensign Browne,” replied a com- 
rade. “ It has been, more than three years since I 
have heard it, but I cannot be mistaken. The old 
man is alive, and near by.” 

“ A quarter of a mile or such a matter below 
here,” replied Ben. “ I will answer it.” 

Placing his hands to his mouth so as to form 
a tunnel-shaped opening, the young Ranger blew 
softly upon his impromptu horn, the note floating 
away upon the still air with a clearness which quite 
surprised his companions. Then the little group 
listened and waited for a reply. But in this they 
seemed doomed to disappointment. When five 
minutes had passed without bringing any response, 
Ben’s companion declared : 

u There was some mistake. It was not the old 


22 7 


228 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


Woodranger, or he would have replied sooner. In 
my opinion we cannot get out of this too soon. 
It was an Indian signal.” 

“ I cannot think so, Dave. We will wait a few 
minutes longer. It is possible he did not think it 
safe to reply with his horn, but he will come to us.” 

Ben had barely finished speaking when a low 
voice said: 

“ Now’s me, lad, you trail thought like a 
prophet.” 

“ The Woodranger!” exclaimed Ben, joyfully, 
and then the forester stepped boldly into sight, his 
tall figure erect and his step as light as ever. 

“ Hush, lads ! ” warned the newcomer, as two 
or three of the Rangers were about to express their 
pleasure in tones more expressive of delight than 
of caution. “ There be too many brown-faces lurk- 
ing hereabouts to allow a waste o’ discretion.” 

“ Then you think the French are in this vicinity, 
Woodranger?” asked Ben. 

“ Not clus by, lad; that is, elbows to you. But 
they be on the war-trail just below, and ready to 
swoop down on you as so many wolves. • A good 
scout is never alarmed at sign o’ danger,” he added, 
as if to remove the impression of immediate peril 
his first words had given. 

“ Right, Woodranger,” said Ben. “ You do not 


A TREMENDOUS JOURNEY 229 

know how glad we are to see you alive and well. 
Where have you been all this long time? ” 

“ Been, lad ? Ask the deer where he stalked last 
year; the bird that winters in the southland and 
seeks the northland in summer. Have I been gone 
overlong? .The time o’ separation seems short 
when the return is gladdened with a hearty wel- 
come. What cheer, lad ? ” 

“ Nothing of great moment, Woodranger. We 
are still fighting the war that was begun before you 
went away. Rob Rogers is three miles above here, 
encamped with a goodly number of the boys.” 

“ That is news that falls like the tinkling water 
o’ spring on the old man’s ears. Mebbe he’ll per- 
ambulate along with you, if you are going to camp. 
But before the ol’ man trails with you he has a 
skein for you to unravel — a knot to be untied.” 

“ Anything we can do, Woodranger, you have 
only to ask.” 

“ You speak like a true friend. I left a comrade 
just below too weak o’ foot to perambulate farther, 
and — and I can ne’er previcate the truth — the ol’ 
man was too snow-clod to pull him farther. Aweel, 
lad, do not blame the ol’ man, but lay it to the years 
— years that battle ag’in natur’ with a hoi’ she 
canna break. I’m ashamed o’ myself, I swan I am, 
lad.” 

Ben now noticed that the Woodranger showed 


230 


WITH ROGERS' R AUGERS 


signs of great exhaustion. In fact, the pleasure and 
excitement of the unexpected meeting somewhat 
abated, he saw' that it was with difficulty that the 
forester could keep upon his feet. His countenance 
was drawn, as if with pain and long endured hard- 
ships, while the eye retained little of its natural 
lustre. The long firearm was indeed a staff to him 
now, for without it, as he stood there in his fa- 
vourite attitude, he must have sunk upon the snow. 

“ You are sick, Woodranger ! ” cried Ben, with 
unfeigned alarm. “ Something has happened to 
you,” 

“ ’Tis nothing, lad. A weakness natural to an 
ol’ man. Mebbe the journey was overlong, or, like 
a painter that fights in the dark, a gale that binds 
its own arms and whips out its own breath with 
its onreasonable fury, I did not take keerful meas- 
ure o’ my own strength. That goes to show we 
ne’er profit in the present by a foolishness o’ the 
past. But go, lad! he waits you. And say, tell 
him the ol’ man has ne’er desarted him, but must 
let him think so for the time. You’ll tell him some- 
thing like that, lad. And while you are going 
back for him I’ll perambulate on to the camp o’ 
Rogers. Nay, now I wind a spare breath, I will 
keep here till you come along. Trail a sharp eye 
for the brown-faces, lad.” 

Ben did not stop to reply, but with another, leav- 


A TREMENDOUS JOURNEY 23 I 

ing two to remain with the Woodr anger, he swiftly 
followed the trail which had been left by the for- 
ester. The young Ranger could not help wonder- 
ing who it was he had been sent to find, but his 
suspense was of short duration, for they had not 
gone more than two hundred rods before he dis- 
covered a large, heavy, and roughly made hand- 
sled drawn up under a thicket of running hemlock. 
Simultaneous with this discovery was another of 
even greater surprise, though really expected. 
Lying at full length upon the sledge, wrapped in 
warm skins with the fur on, was the figure of a 
man. 

“ Hilloa, sir ! ” greeted Ben, in a low, cautious 
tone, stopping beside the motionless form, “ I think 
you must be the man the Woodranger sent us to 
find.” 

At the sound of his voice the stranger moved 
slightly, and raising his head so as to look upon 
the young Ranger, he replied, feebly: 

“ I am Wallace Briant. The Woodranger left 
me a few minutes since saying he had found 
friends, and that he would be back in a minute.” 

“ He was unable to come back, Mr. Briant,” said 
Ben. “ He seems pretty well worn out.” 

“ Worn out? That man must have a frame of 
iron and a will of steel. Why, sir, he has dragged 
me alone through the pathless forest for more than 


232 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

two hundred miles. I am wounded and sick. I 
told him it would be useless, but nothing that I 
could say would stop him. He carried me one 
whole day in his arms, when the bullets of the 
enemies flew about us like hailstones. It was a 
miracle he was not shot down. He bears a 
charmed life. Tired out, the wonder is he is not 
dead. But a nobler man never lived. Only his 
watchful care has saved me.” 

“ Are you Alex B riant’s father ? ” asked Ben, 
remembering that his companion had called his 
father by the name of Wallace. 

“ I am. Then you know Alex ! He may be 
near ! He lives ? ” 

“ He is with our party to-night. I left him at 
camp with Captain Rogers, Mr. Briant. He will 
be glad to see you.” 

“ To see me. Oh, the joy of this hour com- 
pensates for the suffering I have borne. Can you 
tell me of his mother? I dare not ask if she lives.” 

“ She lives, Mr. Briant, and is now at Albany, 
safe and well. But she has long mourned you as 
dead.” 

“ I have been close down to death’s door. I 
owe my life to him, the bravest, best friend a man 
ever had.” 

Ben could see that this excitement was exhaust- 
ing the sick man, so he admonished him to remain 


A TREMENDOUS JOURNEY 233 

as quiet as possible, while they took him* to camp. 
When he, assisted by another, came to pull the sled 
along through the trackless snow, he could not help 
exclaiming : 

“ I do not see how the Woodranger could pull 
this alone.” 

“ He must indeed have arms of iron, and I do 
not wonder he is played out,” replied Ben's com- 
panion. 

When they returned to the place where they had 
left him they found the Woodranger resting on the 
muzzle of his musket just as they had left him. 

He started up at their approach, but said noth- 
ing, while he fell in behind the sled, as it was 
dragged ahead toward camp. 

Nothing was said during that journey, which 
required about an hour’s time in its performance. 
Their appearance was the signal for some alarm, 
which quickly resolved itself into wonder, while the 
Rangers pressed forward to see who had thus come 
into their presence. There was many a hearty 
shaking of the hand for the Woodranger, the fore- 
most and most hearty coming from Captain Rogers, 
who anxiously inquired concerning his fortunes. 

“ Have you seen signs of the Indians, Wood- 
ranger? ” 

“ Ay, lad, that I have. They be like the leaves 
o’ the forest, and they are painted for war.” 


234 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ True, Woodranger. But you are exhausted, 
and must lie down. Perhaps first you will share 
with us the fare we have. Forgive — ” 

“ Tut — tut, Rob. ’Tis only a passing weak- 
ness. Here comes the lad to greet his sire. I 
swan it does these oh eyes good to trail sich an 
amazement.” 

The identity of Wallace Briant by this time had 
become known, and Alex, with what joy and sur- 
prise may be imagined, met his long-lost father, 
whom he had supposed killed upon the fateful day 
he and his mother had been driven out of Acadia. 
At sight of this reunion of father and son the 
Rangers withdrew to a respectful distance, feeling 
that it was too sacred for them to witness, and 
while they conversed thus apart among themselves 
many an unbidden tear coursed down cheeks that 
had become weather-worn and war-beaten. 

In his great joy and outpouring of his emotions 
Wallace Briant did not forget to recount some of 
the heroic sacrifices the Woodranger had made for 
him. In his story it was learned that the banish- 
ment of the Acadians had been accomplished, and 
that his family had not been the only ones to suffer. 

“ I never expected to see you or your mother 
again,” he said, “ and if I do it is due entirely to 
that grand man who would not leave me even when 
I, believing it would be useless for him to try and 


A TREMENDOUS JOURNEY 


2 35 


save me, begged of him to do so. Oh, that journey 
for two hundred miles through a trackless forest 
much of the way, and always through a country 
overrun with enemies, — I cannot describe it to you 
now, though I may be spared to do it some time. 
Can I hope to reach Albany, where your mother, 
they tell me, is stopping ?” 

“ I wish I could go with you, father, but I fear 
I cannot. You know I belong to the regular army 
as one of Captain Rogers’ Rangers.” 

“ I know it, my son, and I would not have you 
disobey your orders or neglect your duties. I will 
get there somehow, if my life is spared me. The 
Woodranger certainly cannot go farther at pres- 
ent.” 

“ Look here, Alex,” said Captain Rogers, who 
had overheard a portion of this conversation, “ I 
have a plan which will serve us both. I want to 
send word to headquarters of what we have learned, 
and you can go back, taking your father with you. 
I will also detail two men to go with you. To be 
frank, I do not think it will be best to let your 
father remain with us longer than we can help. I 
have not said so to the boys, but, in my opinion, 
we are likely to get into the hottest corner we have 
found yet.” 

“You are very kind, Captain Rogers. I hope 
the Woodranger will be able to go with us.” 


236 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

So it was decided that Mr. Briant’s journey 
should be resumed as speedily as might be done 
with consideration in regard to his strength. One 
of the Rangers made a broth from choice portions 
of meat, and the best at their command was given 
him. After eating this, and enjoying an hour’s 
rest, he declared that he was ready to start again. 
In truth, a sort of feverish anxiety to reach Albany 
possessed him which no words of his companions 
could remove. But he was determined that the 
Woodranger, who had come with him so far, 
should continue on to his destination. The latter 
shook his head, saying: 

“ Nay, man, that canna be. There be personal 
p’ints which trail the other way. I have done my 
best, little enough man knows, but all that I could 
do, all that I can do. Forgive me if I pain you 
with my stubbornness. I should pain you in my 
weakness o’ going. Nay — nay — nay! that can 
never be, I swan it can’t. Natur’ calls to me in 
words that brook no denial. Go, man, go! may 
you live long to bless her life, and remember kindly 
the ol’ man with a cross.” 

Alex now joined his solicitations with those of 
his father to have the Woodranger go on with 
them, but nothing could be said to cause him to dp 
so. Holding the hand of Briant for a moment in 
his, he turned resolutely away, though Ben and a 


A TREMENDOUS JOURNEY 237 

few others who were nearest saw that the tears 
were rolling down his cheeks like rain. He trem- 
bled in his walk, but that may have been due to his 
recent trying experiences. Wallace Briant was 
weeping like a woman, while he murmured, softly : 

“Farewell — fare thee well, noble man. Some- 
thing tells me we may never meet again. Fare- 
well ! ” 

Without further loss of time Alex and his com- 
panions started upon the homeward journey, pulling 
the sled after them as rapidly as they could walk. 
Their way now wound around the islands dotting 
the lake, where the snow was now deep, and much 
of the course covered with smooth ice. The Wood- 
ranger had turned back to the camp-fire, as if re- 
fusing to watch them out of sight. He had paused 
by the trunk of a stately yellow birch, and as he 
leaned against the tree he said to his compan- 
ions : 

“ Aweel, now’s me, man is but a tree among the 
forests o’ the races. In the spring, which is the 
youth o’ manhood, he dons his best raiment and 
holds his head above his fellow beings. In the 
summer-time he begins to droop; in the autumn, 
with the frost touching his head, he tries to conceal 
the way-marks o’ time by putting on brighter cloth ; 
but in the winter-age, he stands stark and lonely. 
Does not his kindred o’ the wood without speech 


238 WITH ROGERS * RAHGERS 

trail some sich an amazement? Only Natur’ does 
not do her mourning in sombre colours or with 
tears. When the seal o’ death is laid on her she 
puts on her brightest, and lays aside her royal 
robes like a queen. Mind you the spark o’ human- 
ity in this tree, which has found sustenance from 
the virtues o’ another — mightier it may be, but 
mightiest in the fruit that has sprung from its 
bosom. ,, 

The others now saw that the birch was upheld by 
a tripod of stout, purple-hued roots, which had been 
freed of the encircling snow by the fire. These 
roots encircled the prostrate form of what had once 
been a gigantic pine, but which now lay covered 
with the leaves of many autumns and transformed 
into wood-moss, lichen, and various strange forma- 
tions, until they looked like mummies wrapped in 
the soft scurf. The sap of the wood had been 
transmuted into a rime of yellowish hue by the 
rains and snows, the moistures and shadows of the 
woodland. 

“ Mind how tenderly the roots o’ the birch en- 
twine the ancient king, as well it might, for the 
sap o’ the one has been its own support, and much 
of the material from which it has drawn its own 
life. Remove this wrapping and you’ll find under- 
neath the heart o’ the pine, whose flesh is the hue o’ 
a steak o’ salmon cut from the river’s rarest catch. 


A TREMENDOUS JOURNEY 


239 


Ay, there be, to me, much in the tree to remind o’ 
man.” 

Captain Rogers was already preparing for the 
night, and knowing the danger hanging over them, 
he ordered that men patrol the adjoining lake all 
night, while sentries should be maintained around 
the camp. When these plans had been put in force, 
the rest of the Rangers rolled themselves in their 
blankets, and inside of half an hour complete 
silence lay over the camp. 

All were astir early, so that by sunrise the entire 
body was moving silently down the shore, the 
Woodranger having decided to accompany the 
Rangers. No sign of the enemy had been dis- 
covered yet, but when they had advanced about 
three miles, one of the scouts discovered a dog 
coming across the ice toward them. Thinking a 
party of Indians might be ambushed on an island 
nearly opposite, and from whence it appeared the 
dog had come, a small party of scouts under Ben 
were immediately despatched to look for the enemy. 

But they had not gone far before the approach- 
ing canine was recognized as an old friend. 

It was Sergeant Beau de Bien! 

To say that this fine old friend was not given 
a cordial reception would be to state an untruth. 
And they were not one bit less glad to see him than 
he was to meet them. He jumped up against one 


240 


WITH ROGERS' R AUGERS 


after another, licked their hands, and finally com-t 
pleted his exhibition of happiness by rolling over 
and over in the snow. 

“ There can be no enemies where the Sergeant 
comes from,” said Ben. “ Still we will reconnoitre 
the island. Will you go, old fellow? ” 

As Ben had predicted, no signs of the enemy 
were to be found on the island, but Captain Rogers 
did not think it safe for them to continue down the 
lake in broad daylight, so the entire company 
crossed over the ice to where a bend in the lake 
makes a point of land which commands an exten- 
sive view both up and down the shore, and being 
low and level did not expose the persons stopping 
here to the gaze of any chance passer-by . 1 Here 
the Rangers prepared to pass the day as quietly 
as possible. 

Scouting parties were sent out with perspective 
glasses to look for the enemy, but the day passed 
without adventure. The following night proved 
to be very dark, so they had to move with extreme 
caution. An advance-guard of fifteen men, among 
whom were Ben and the Woodranger, who had 
recovered somewhat from his recent trying experi- 
ences, went ahead on skates, while another body 
flanked the main troops on the left, the entire 
company keeping closely into the west shore. 

1 Sabbath Day Point. — Author. 


A TREMENDOUS JOURNEY 


241 


The main body was thus moving slowly down 
the shore, and had got within about eight miles, 
as it afterward proved, of the advance-guard of the 
French, when Ben discovered a fire on the east 
shore. The order to halt was quickly given, and 
the men commanded to drop flat upon the ice. 
Lieutenant Philips , 1 in command, immediately 
started back to warn Major Rogers of the close 
proximity of the foe. 

1 Not to be confounded with Philip the Sokokis. He was a half- 
breed who did good service through the French and Indian war. — 
Author. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A LOST BATTLE 

Captain Rogers ordered that scouts be sent for- 
ward to investigate in regard to the fire, and while 
this was being done his men remained crouching 
close to the ice and as motionless as possible. 

Ben was again among the four sent forward to 
reconnoitre, the Woodranger remaining behind. 
The scouts now crept cautiously toward the fire, 
which began to die down by this time, and caused 
them a little wonder and speculation. Upon reach- 
ing the shore of the island it was found that the 
land rose gradually from the edge of the water, 
and that the bright light seen must have been near 
the centre of the isle. 

The island was heavily wooded, and the night 
still keeping dark, the four crawled forward with 
extreme caution, expecting any moment to find 
themselves attacked by the Indians who they had 
reasons to believe were all around them. Thus 
fully half an hour was taken in creeping up the 
side of the ascent, only to find at its summit a 
few smouldering coals. But this was evidence that 

242 


A LOST BATTLE 


243 


some one had been there recently, and from the 
manner the fire had been built it was decided that 
it had been a white man. This being the case it 
was also quite certain he had not only fled upon 
discovering the presence of the Rangers, but that 
he had carried the news of their approach to his 
friends. It indeed proved to be the case, and was 
the cause which brought them such fearful work 
before the affair was ended. 

The scouts returned with greater haste than 
they had exercised in coming, so inside of an hour 
they were able to report the result of their ex- 
ploit to Captain Rogers. For the balance of the 
night the Rangers remained inactive. In the 
morning, thinking it safer to keep under the cover 
of the forest, the entire force marched upon snow- 
shoes until noon, when a halt was made. They 
were now within two miles of the advance-guard 
of the French, and on the west side of the low 
mountain overlooking the shore. 

Remaining at the rendezvous until three o’clock, 
the regiment was divided into two parts, and the 
order given to advance. The snow was here four 
feet deep, and it was very hard to move on snow- 
shoes. But with great difficulty they marched a 
mile and a half, and were keeping close to the base 
of the mountain, when one of the scouts, continu- 
ally on the lookout, reported that about a hundred 


244 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


Indians, with three French officers, had been dis- 
covered coming that way. 

In spite of his protests the Woodranger was 
placed in charge of an advance-guard, and as the 
order was given to lay aside the packs, he advanced 
with his men so as to form a flank to the right of 
the main body. The whole force was now deployed 
along the ridge overlooking the bank of a rivulet 
along which the enemies were marching, apparently 
unconscious as yet of their presence. 

Captain Rogers waited until the front of the 
enemy’s column was directly opposite, when he dis- 
charged his gun. This was the signal for the others 
to fire, and a deadly volley was poured into the 
midst of the surprised red men. It was estimated 
that over forty were killed by this terrible discharge, 
and the survivors broke and fled in wild disorder. 

“ Head them off,” shouted Rogers to the Wood- 
ranger, who at once advanced double-quick upon 
the heels of the fleeing enemies, and into what 
proved a death-trap. 

The keen-sighted Woodranger had not taken 
half a dozen steps before he saw that the first 
party had been only an advance-guard sent out by 
the French, and that the main body, numbering 
over six hundred, was close at hand. 

“ Quick — to kiver ! ” cried the forester. 

Seeing their peril, the Rangers sought cover with 


A LOST BATTLE 


245 


all the haste possible. In spite of their swift ac- 
tion fifty of their number were shot down before 
they could gain the vantage-ground where they 
had left their packs. Here Captain Rogers ordered 
them to make a stand, and there began at once one 
of the hottest skirmishes that took place during the 
entire war. 

Outnumbered by the enemy seven to one, the 
brave Rangers were resolved to stand their ground 
to the bitter end. The mountain formed a natural 
protection for their rear, but their front was open 
to the raking fire of the Canadians and Indians 
making up the French force, who stormed in vain 
the little band of Rangers, and were soon obliged 
to retreat. 

Captain Rogers, while rallying his men for an- 
other defence, knew they were in no condition to 
follow up their advantage, even if such a course 
would have ensured them the utter rout of the 
enemy. So the Rangers saw their enemies recover 
somewhat from their second repulse, and once 
more they attacked them. 

About this time it was discovered that two hun- 
dred Indians were ascending the mountain, to hurl 
themselves down upon the Rangers on their rear. 
Rogers was also suspicious that some of the main 
body of the Canadians might endeavour to gain 
their left, and thus help to surround them. To 


246 WITH ROGERS’ RANGERS 

check the first manoeuvre Lieutenant Philips was 
sent with eighteen men to the summit, while an- 
other squad of fifteen was sent to act in the other 
direction. Though these squads lessened the num- 
bers to stand the brunt of battle in front, it was 
the best that could be done. 

Confident of victory, the enemy now made a 
furious onset against the main body of the Rangers 
commanded by Captain Rogers in person. Ben 
and the Woodranger were now near together on 
the extreme left, where the charge was the fiercest. 

“ Stand back a leetle to my right,” said the for- 
ester. “ Back by that rock, lad. It be more seemly 
that young life should be spared than the old. And 
I tell you, lad, not many o’ us are coming out o’ 
this amazement. Rob is doing his best, but it’s ten 
to one ag’in him.” 

A volley of bullets then mowed past them like 
the hail of a summer tempest, cutting down every 
second man. Ben Browne turned pale, and felt cer- 
tain that he should never come out of that fight 
alive. The yells of the Indians vied with the re- 
ports of their firearms, as they strove madly to 
reach the brave boys at bay. 

More than a hundred Rangers went down to rise 
no more, and Captain Rogers, seeing that it was 
surrender or retreat, chose the last course, when 
he shouted for his men to retreat up the hill to 


A LOST BATTLE 


247 


join Lieutenant Philips. About twenty followed 
him, and these with the others prepared to pour a 
galling fire down upon the enemies at the foot of 
the hill. Then three hundred Indians surrounded 
Lieutenant Philips, and Rogers called out to him 
to look out for himself and men. 

“ I think I can make good terms of surrender,” 
he replied. “If I can’t I will fight till the last 
man falls.” 

The undaunted spirit of brave “ Bill ” Philips 
was felt by every Ranger, who resolved to sell his 
life as dearly as possible. Even Lige Bitlock, who 
thus far had kept as much as possible in the back- 
ground, showed that he possessed when brought 
to bay the courage that makes men heroes. He 
was lying behind a rock not far from Ben and the 
Woodranger, where the bullets of the enemies were 
flying thick and fast. 

From one direction in particular shots were com- 
ing that were cutting down their comrades on every 
hand. The Woodranger finally discovered that 
many of these deadly shots were fired at regular 
intervals from a big stump standing within easy 
range. Looking closely at the object the keen gaze 
of the Woodranger soon saw that the muzzle of a 
musket was pushed into the orifice left by a knot 
once forming a part of the wood. 

“ That be a discreet cunning,” murmured the 


248 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

forester, softly, a smile overspreading his bronzed 
visage, while he carefully reloaded his own weapon. 

In a moment a thin wreath of smoke curled about 
the spot, while another deadly missile sought its 
victim among his friends. 

“ Your last,” said the Woodranger, “ unless ol* 
Danger has lost his gift o’ war.” 

The forester had quickly concluded that immedi- 
ately after firing his weapon the savage would 
want to note the effect of his shot, and so he 
brought his own firearm to bear upon the bull’s- 
eye in the stump. Scarcely had the report of his 
gun rung out before a huge Iroquois warrior 
leaped from behind his covert with his death-yell 
upon his lips. 

“Well done, oY Danger!” declared the pleased 
woodsman, beginning to reload his weapon with 
rapid movements. At this moment, seeing that it 
was madness to continue the unequal fight longer, 
Captain Rogers sang out: 

“ Each man to himself.” 

Then a mere handful of the one hundred and 
eighty men who had entered the fight sought safety 
in flight, scattering to the four winds in their wild 
endeavours to escape the enemies that lay in wait 
for them behind every tree and rock, every bush 
and hummock of earth. To follow the individual 
fortunes of these brave fellows would be to repeat 



“‘YOUR LAST,’ SAID THE WOODRANGER, ‘UNLESS OL 5 
DANGER HAS LOST HIS GIFT O’ WAR.’” 





A LOST BATTLE 


249 


narratives of hairbreadth escapes and deeds of 
valour that would outrival any of the records of 
the so-called days of chivalry. One doughty 
Ranger, who had been in the thickest of the fight, 
sought to evade his foes by following along under 
the cover of a huge fallen tree, which had lain for 
years until covered with vines and overlaid with a 
carpet of leaves. Reaching at last the end of the 
great log, and flattering himself that he had got 
beyond range of his enemies, he passed around 
the end toward another place of concealment, when 
he found himself face to* face with a tall Huron 
warrior, who it seemed had crept along the opposite 
side of the fallen, tree, simultaneously with him. 

With a fierce war-cry the surprised Indian lev- 
elled his firearm pointblank at the Ranger. But he 
was no swifter of action than the latter, and the re- 
ports of their weapons rang out as one. The two 
foemen sank to the earth side by side, and neither 
rose again. 

At the outset of the retreat Ben found himself 
separated from the Woodranger, who had been 
near him throughout the fight, and though dis- 
appointed at losing the companionship of the for- 
ester, and fearing that he had fallen before the fire 
of the foe, the young Ranger started at a swift pace 
down the side of the mountain, followed by two 


250 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

others, one of whom proved to be Lige Bitlock, 
though at the time Ben did not know it. 

Near the foot of the descent Ben found that they 
were entering a narrow pass which had evidently 
been a main way of reaching to the top of the as- 
cent by the French and Indians. Smart firing 
came up to them from the path ahead, and Lige 
Bitlock proclaimed his presence by exclaiming: 

“ We’re lost ! we’re goners ! ” 

His long yellow hair was streaming in the wind, 
and his thin features, stained with powder, looked 
white and terrified. He had lost his gun, and he 
looked very little then like one who, in after-years, 
was frequently heard to boast of having fought 
with Rogers and his Rangers in the days of the 
French invasion. But that was not a time to think 
of personal appearances, when every man of that 
brave band was straining every nerve, and exer- 
cising every artifice of warfare known to him in 
trying to escape an enemy whose vengeance never 
slept. 

“ They are not firing at us,” cried Ben, the fore- 
most of the trio. “ Look by that big rock, where 
the path is narrowest. What is that rolling in 
blood ? My God ! it is the Sergeant ! ” 

If the impressive speech of the young Ranger has 
an appearance of profanity, I think he may be for- 
given the sin. But it was not uttered in the spirit 


a lost Battle 


251 


of an oath. The sight was enough to stir the 
blood of a dullard, and the words were but the 
honest expression of Ben’s feelings. 

It seemed that the brave dog, in some manner 
separated from the men, had, alone and of his own 
free will, taken his station here, where he had held 
at bay all who had attempted to reach the moun- 
tain-top by the path. And now, covered with 
blood, every spark of the wolf in his nature aroused, 
intrenched behind a breastwork of the dead bodies 
of those he had slain, he still held his post in spite 
of every effort to rout him. 

“ Come on ! ” cried Ben ; “ fire as you come.” 

The two shots coming from him and one of his 
companions, together with their cries, caused the 
Indians to think reinforcements were coming, and 
they turned upon their heels and fled wildly down 
the pass. 

“Follow me!” shouted Ben. “Now is our 
time. Hilloa, Sergeant! come with us.” 

Random firing in the distance answered this bold 
defiance of the young Ranger, while a series of 
yells from the crest of the hill seemed to mock his 
hopes of an escape. 

The gallant Sergeant, as surprised as any human 
being must have been by this sudden appearance 
of old acquaintances, seemed unable to gather his 
scattered and bewildered wits for a moment, and 


252 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

it was not until, calling- to him again, Ben and his 
companions leaped the barrier of bodies in their 
pathway and bounded away, the true hero of the 
pass uttered a cry of delight, and rushed upon their 
heels. 

This dangerous place passed, Ben found himself 
near the shore of the lake, and hearing the enemies 
below, he wheeled about and ran along the margin 
of ice as swiftly as his feet could bear him. Some- 
how in the race that followed he became separated 
from his companions, even losing sight of the Ser- 
geant. But he was not destined to get away as eas- 
ily as he had hoped, for he had not got far ahead 
before he suddenly found himself surrounded by a 
party of howling Indians who had sprung from 
an ambuscade upon him. In less time than it could 
be described he was flung to the ground and bound 
hands and feet. 


4 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE RETREAT 

Ben's hopes fell as the savages danced about him 
in frenzied glee. At first he imagined they meant 
to put him to death at once, but he soon found that 
they had worse designs upon him than a speedy 
end. He was to be reserved for the torture. It 
proved that while the majority of the Rangers had 
been killed, very few had been taken captives, and 
nothing so sated a savage’s vengeance as a prisoner. 

Here and there, like the echoes of the fierce battle 
recently fought, came to Ben’s ears the report of a 
gun, telling him that the pursuit of the enemies was 
not yet entirely over, and each succeeding sound 
was to him the death-knell of a comrade. But after 
all were not they who had been shot down in the 
passion of battle better off than he? This led him 
to wonder what had become of the Woodranger, 
of Captain Rogers, Lige, the Sergeant, and the 
others who had finally sought safety in flight. 

In the midst of these reflections the Indians be- 
gan to move down the shore, making Ben march 
in their midst. At the least show of hanging back 
253 


254 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


he was sure to be prodded by one of his captors, 
who took especial delight in showing their power. 
After going half a mile the Indians left the shore 
and advanced on the ice. 

One reason for this change of course was soon 
evident. The Indians had secured several pairs of 
skates during the fight, and these were a source of 
great wonder and pleasure to them. One big fel- 
low, with a generous coating of red paint, and his 
Huronic plume of black hair made to stand up in 
uncommon fierceness, finally put on a pair of skates, 
but he had barely accomplished this part of his 
programme before he suddenly found his heels 
shooting out from under him, and himself standing 
on his head. 

There is no record to show how many stars the 
Huron discovered in this inverted exploration of 
the frozen surface of the lake. His discomfiture 
brought forth a series of gibes and laughter from 
his companions that did not serve to smooth his 
ruffled temper. But he was quickly up again, and 
even quicker down to his former level. The next 
attempt was rewarded by a swift parting of his feet, 
when one shot out toward the middle of the lake, 
while its mate as unexpectedly took a sweep for the 
shore. With this sudden departure of both from 
under him the warrior naturally took a seat upon 
the ice with a force which made it look like the face 


THE EE TEE AT 


255 


of a watch. This movement, while it did succeed 
in arresting the desertion of his feet, brought a deep 
and significant grunt from the ill-fated victim. 

Satisfied by this time that skates were “ bad 
medicine,” he tore this pair from his feet, and flung 
them as far as he could out over the ice. His fail- 
ure did not discourage others, and a couple of his 
companions, probably thinking they could show 
him greater cunning in the art, tried on their skates. 
Alas! for savage hopes. They failed as miserably 
as he had. 

Ben was now watching them with looks of dis- 
dain, and finally he said : 

“ Indian like big clumsy boy ! Can't stand on his 
feet ! Squaws could do better. I could walk on the 
lightning track when I was only so high,” indicat- 
ing his height by holding his hand about two feet 
above the icy floor of the lake. 

His words found the desired effect, for one of the 
Hurons, a leader of the party, asked him if he could 
do it now. 

“ Let me try, and I will show you,” replied Ben. 

After a short consultation the Indians agreed 
to give the captive a chance to teach them a lesson 
in skating. So Ben’s hands were freed, and a pair 
of skates given him, while the Indians moved back 
so as to make room for him to move about, and yet 
to cut off any attempt he might make to escape. 


256 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


Ben was more cunning than they had counted. 
Three years as one of Rogers’ Rangers had taught 
him many tricks and schemes as sharp as those 
learned by the red men themselves. 

So he met with no better success at first than his 
captors who had tried on the skates. His feet flew 
in every direction but the one he wanted them to 
follow, and he would tumble down, pick himself 
up and fall back sprawling upon the ice. It was 
such rare sport to the Indians that they became ab- 
sorbed in his dilemmas, jeering him and calling him 
all manner of names. In this manner, growing 
more and more uncertain in his efforts, Ben strug- 
gled, scrambled, sprawled, and rolled all over the 
ice, even close to where his captors were encircling 
him. While he was doing this, appearing greatly 
ashamed over his repeated failures, he was waiting 
for the opportune time for him to break away. 

His gun, which he prized highly, was in the pos- 
session of a warrior upon the farther side of the 
circle, so that he blundered and stumbled in that 
direction. He had just tried to rise to his feet, 
only to fall prone upon the ice, spread out like a 
huge spider. But as he fell he managed to hit the 
feet of the savage a blow which sent him flat, and 
the gun spinning away from him. 

Then Ben suddenly showed his mettle. As quick 
as a flash he regained his feet, catching the firearm 


THE EE TEE AT 


257 


as it flew toward him. With this in his hands, send- 
ing back a defiant laugh, the young Ranger shot out 
over the lake like an arrow from a mighty bow. 
Before the Indians could recover enough to realize 
that he was speeding away from them like a bird 
upon electric wings, he was far up on the lake, and 
going farther and farther each moment. 

The discomfited red men fired a volley after 
their escaping captive, but their bullets flew wide 
of their mark, and the chase they gave was equally 
as futile. Ben soon left them quite out of sight, 
and that night he reached his friends at camp in 
safety. 

Having followed Ben in his successful journey 
to camp, we will retrace our course to note the 
adventures, or at least a portion of the adventures 
that befell others of the more fortunate Rangers. 

Soon finding himself separated from his com- 
panions, the forester, who had been in too many 
close quarters before to think anything serious of 
this situation, started to cross the backbone of the 
mountain. He had not gone many yards before 
the sharp click of a gun-lock warned him of the 
close proximity of an enemy. 

The Woodranger quickly dodged behind a con- 
venient tree, where he awaited the next move of 
his foe, whom he was well aware had sought the 
same sort of a shield as himself, that is, a big pine. 


258 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

He could hear the sounds of other enemies on the 
side of the mountain, and he knew if he remained 
there long he was sure to be found and shot. His 
only hope lay in drawing the fire of his enemy in 
front as quickly as possible, when he would have 
him at his mercy. 

Without delay, therefore, he resorted to the old 
device of placing his cap upon the muzzle of his 
gun, and began to push it slowly out into sight, 
as if its owner was trying to peer around the tree 
to find out if others were about. The Indian, for 
such his enemy was, quickly discovered the object, 
and recognized it as belonging to the man whom 
of all others he would most delight to kill. Know- 
ing him to be a cunning foe, he resolved to im- 
prove his opportunity as quickly as he could, and 
no sooner had the cap come into sight than he took 
hasty aim and fired. His marksmanship was good, 
for the bullet just touched the bark of the tree, and 
pierced the cap, which the Woodranger lifted up- 
ward like a person making his death-spring, and 
then he fell backward into the bushes. 

Like a true sportsman the red man did not run 
to look at his game until he should have reloaded 
his empty weapon. But this action proved his 
doom. The Woodranger was swiftly on his feet, 
and covering his victim with old Danger, he 
cried : 


THE RETREAT 


259 


“ It may be wanton slaying, but it’s life for life. 
Say your prayers, you painted pagan, as fast as 
ever you can ! ” 

As he uttered the last word the report of his 
firearm rang out, and his path was clear for him 
to continue his escape, which he did with certainty. 

The escape of Captain Rogers was about as re- 
markable as any of them. Knowing him as the 
leader of the whites, the French and Indians looked 
upon him as a prize of greater worth to capture 
than any of the others. Thus the Ranger chief 
soon found himself pursued by a hundred of his 
foes. He was a good runner, and he had taken the 
precaution to put on a pair of snow-shoes before 
entering the deep growth, but it began to look as 
though he was not to get away. Still the doughty 
chief kept on and on, leading his enemies a merry 
race over hill and through valley. Sure of their 
game in the end, the Indians did not push him as 
hard as they might have done at the outset, but 
rather followed him close enough to prolong and 
enjoy what was to them rare sport. 

“ We catch big chief soon ! ” declared a swift- 
footed Huron, as he followed like a hound his 
prey. “ Rogers too big-foot to run long. Me have 
him scalp to dry in my’Vigwam.” 

The fugitive laughed back in scorn, and seeing 
a good target in one of his pursuers, he fired his 


26 o 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


trusty gun. A telltale yell showed to him that he 
had not wasted his powder. 

The course of the Ranger was such that the In- 
dians knew he was running into what they con- 
sidered a trap. Ahead of him rose an elevation of 
land with a steep front dropping down to the lake 
by a sheer fall of over five hundred feet! While 
the ascent from this side was gradual there was no 
retreat should he reach the summit. All they had 
got to do was to follow on, closing in upon him as 
they advanced up the narrowing way. 

Now they should have known that Robert Rog- 
ers was not one to run headlong into any such trap 
without some motive. He proved that he had one 
upon this critical occasion. No sooner had he 
gained the summit, where he could look down upon 
the icy floor half a thousand feet below him, than 
he took off his snow-shoes and put them on in a 
reversed position, so as to make it appear that he 
was going in an opposite direction from that which 
he was really following. Then, while his pursuers 
climbed leisurely the ascent, he descended on the 
side opposite to that by which he had come up. 

Directly the Indians drew near the summit, 
finally beginning to wonder what had become of 
their prey. Then they saw two sets of tracks lead- 
ing up the rising land until they met at the edge of 
the precipice. This led the Indians to conclude that 


THE EE TEE AT 


26l 


Rogers and another had come here, and rather than 
be captured had leaped to death upon the rocks 
below. 

But this hopeful view was shattered in a moment, 
when they discovered, far out upon the lake, the 
form of the Ranger chief rapidly disappearing in 
the distance. Believing that he had slid down the 
precipice, and that he had been aided in that peril- 
ous feat by the Great Spirit, they abandoned fur- 
ther pursuit. 

Captain Rogers reached Fort Edward in safety, 
there to recount the thrilling story of the disas- 
trous ending of the expedition upon which he had 
been sent. No blame was attached to him, the 
belief of all being that it was almost a miracle 
that any escaped instead of so few. He was com- 
missioned a major for his part in the heroic un- 
dertaking. The precipitous side of the bluff down 
which the Indians believed he had jumped was 
known for a long time as “ Rogers’ Rock,” and to- 
day it is pointed out as the place of “ Rogers’ 
Slide.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


REUNITED LIVES 

“ There is a man coming down the path. It is 
not the Woodranger! Who can it be? ” 

It was summer once more, and the tranquil peace 
of that fairest season of all the year rested upon 
the Horican and its environments. Ay, it was an 
uncommon peace that smiled benignly upon water 
and land, a joyful peace which had at last come 
to this beautiful retreat after more than a thousand 
years of warfare. Never more would the war- 
whoop of the warring red men echo up and down 
its sounding shores. Following in the footsteps 
of the ancient Horicans and the lordly Mohawks, 
the invading French had been driven back to their 
stronghold upon the rock of Quebec, and there 
suffered the ignominy of defeat. It is true the 
echo of these old-time battles was to be given 
when the struggle for American independence was 
to be practically decided here, but her first triumph 
had been won, and the scars of the long and bitter 
strife were already healing, for the wounds of 
Nature heal rapidly. 


262 


REUNITED LIVES 263 

# 

Upon this particular day and hour a heavy boat, 
common upon the waters of that vicinity during 
those times, carrying a dozen persons of both sexes, 
was moving sluggishly in the direction of the point 
of rock breasting the lake and half-encircling with 
its hornlike beak the little cove at the foot of the 
pathway leading up to the Lookout, which had 
been so long the home of the father and daughter, 
and later of the girl alone in her years of Crusoe 
life. 

Seated in the bow of the boat at this time was 
the last-named person, looking fairer and more 
beautiful than upon the afternoon when we first 
met her. Her countenance now was radiant with 
expectation and happiness, for beside her sat her 
affianced lover, Alex Briant. He had served out 
his enlistment with Rogers’ Rangers, and was look- 
ing hopefully forward to the building of a home 
for himself and loved ones. 

Just behind them sat his mother, something of 
the warmth and cheerfulness of the summer scene 
enlivening her features, and restoring to them the 
grace and beauty of her younger years. She was 
alone now, Mr. Briant having lived but a few weeks 
after reaching her side, following that tremendous 
journey he had made under the almost superhuman 
efforts of the Woodranger. 

Everybody had seemed to lose track of the latter, 


264 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

except that it had been rumoured he had gone with 
Captain William Stark and Ben Browne, both of 
whom had joined the contingency of Rangers who 
served so faithfully under Wolfe in the siege and 
capture of Quebec. Word, however, had been re- 
ceived that he had been seen on the shore of the 
Horican within a few days, and it was in the hope 
that they might find him this party had come hither. 

With the exception of the three already named 
they were strangers to us, and it does not seem nec- 
essary to introduce them in this passing notice. As 
the little company had begun to approach the place 
which had been the home of Indian Plume, and 
which she had longed, day by day, to visit, she had 
discovered the figure of a person moving slowly 
down the path leading to the water. Her announce- 
ment had brought from Alex the words quoted, and 
which confirmed her belief. 

As she continued to gaze upon the stranger, 
while the boat was being carried rapidly in toward 
the shore, her whole form began to tremble and a 
light came into her eyes which frightened her com- 
panion. 

“ What is it, Bernice ? ” he asked, anxiously, ad- 
dressing her by the name her parent had christened 
her, and which had been his mother’s. 

“ Oh, Alex ! Can it be ? It must be ! It is — it 
is father !” and she fain would have sprung into 


REUNITED LIVES 265 

the water in her unbounded eagerness to reach his 
side. 

“ Hush ! Be calm, dearest. If it is your 
father — ” 

“Father! F-a-t-h-e-r ! ” she fairly shrieked, and 
then fell fainting in her lover’s arms. 

The man upon the shore, who had been watching 
the boat, and was coming to meet it with a great 
gladness in his heart, heard the words, and recog- 
nized the voice. 

“ My child — thank God ! ” he cried, and then, 
though the stout rowers were sending the boat 
swiftly in toward the shore, he could not brook the 
delay, and with uplifted arms rushed headlong out 
to meet it. 

The speaker was a handsome man in middle life, 
whom Alex recognized as Lieutenant Berne, who 
figured as a French officer in the battle of Lake 
George. By the time he had reached it the boat 
was in shallow water, and it was speedily grounded 
upon the beach. 

“My darling child!” murmured the overjoyed 
father, as he folded in his arms his long-lost daugh- 
ter. 

She soon recovered consciousness, and the re- 
united couple sobbed for joy in each other’s em- 
brace, while the others turned away to conceal their 
own emotions over the glad reunion. 


266 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


“ I have long given up looking for you, father, 
though my heart would never allow me to think 
I should never see you again.” 

“ It has been a long, a cruel separation, my child,” 
he said, the tears still coursing down his cheeks. 
“ I came back here hoping against fate that I might 
find some trace of you. But when I found the old 
home in ruins, and you gone I knew not whither, 
I sat down in despair. I could not convince myself 
that you were living, and — ” 

“ Let the memory pass, dear father. We have 
known enough of sorrow without living it over 
again. But you must tell me where you have been, 
why you never came back to me that day, and how 
it is I find you here now. But take your time, dar- 
ling father, I am too happy now to think of it 
all” 

So the two, in their happiness unable to more 
than notice their friends, talked in an incoherent 
sort of way for half an hour, saying much, but 
really telling little. Leaving them to gradually 
overcome the first transport of their joy, the others 
climbed the path leading to the summit, already 
growing faint from disuse. Upon reaching the 
little plateau, still encircled with the rim of hem- 
locks, broken down at places, it was found that the 
stone house lay in ruins — a shapeless pile of rocks 
and debris. 


REUNITED LIVES 


267 


“ The work of the French,” declared Alex. 
“ Probably they thought it was some outpost of 
our forces.” 

When she whom' we have known longest as In- 
dian Plume was told this, she expressed no desire 
to visit the spot that day. At some other time she 
might wish to do so, but she did not wish to mar 
the happiness of the present moment with a shadow. 
So it was planned to start at once upon a return to 
the settlement. 

“ As I came up the lake this morning,” said Lieu- 
tenant Berne, “ I saw a strange-looking white man 
by the shore a few miles below here. He looked 
so uncivilized, but withal so picturesque, that I 
could not help taking a second look at him. And 
as I passed on he waved his coonskin cap to me, 
but vanished the next moment, and when I went 
ashore he was not to be found. Who could he have 
been? Is there some hermit living in this vicinity? 
It was near the falls below here I saw him.” 

“ Describe him, father,” said his daughter. “ He 
may have been the Woodranger.” 

The description given by Lieutenant Berne of the 
man he had seen agreed so closely with that of 
the forester that it was the unanimous desire of the 
party to keep on down to the falls. And while this 
pleasant stage of their journey was being made, 
he told the following brief story of his life, which 


268 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


explained much of the mystery overshadowing 
him : 

“ My name is Roland Berne, and I come of a 
French family in good standing. My mother was 
an English gentlewoman. But trouble entered our 
family soon after father’s marriage, I think, for 
by the time I had grown to manhood they had 
thickened so that my father was seized and thrown 
into prison, charged with being false to the king. 
I took up the cudgel in his defence, and the conse- 
quence was neither of us gained by it. He was 
executed, mother died of a broken heart, and I was 
forced to flee the country. Eventually I found my 
way into this region, and meeting and falling in 
love with a beautiful Indian princess, with no 
thought of ever returning to my native land, I mar- 
ried her. Then, loving the solitude and the solace 
of freedom, I built a stone house upon one of 
the most beautiful terraces of the mountain that 
I could find, and upon a spot where my wife and I 
could look out over the fair Horican as the years 
flew by. 

“ Our cup of happiness seemed filled when you 
came to bless our lonely lives, my dear daughter, 
but the shadow fell deep and dark when your mother 
was taken from us, and I realized that I had only 
you between me and the world. 

“ Upon the afternoon that I left you, Bernice, 


REUNITED LIVES 


269 


with the promise and expectation of returning to 
you within the hour, I ran across a party of my 
countrymen who instantly recognized me as the out- 
law for whose head a prize was offered. In de- 
fiance of my protests I was taken and carried away 
to Quebec, where I was thrown into prison, and 
word of my capture was sent to Paris. You can 
have only a faint conception of what I suffered, 
knowing in all likelihood I should never see my 
dear child again, whom I knew then must be cry- 
ing for me, and wondering where I was that I did 
not come back to her. 

“ After long and vexatious, delays I was sent to 
France, and there placed on trial for high treason. 
Oh, the miserable farce of it all ! But I was help- 
less, and the only ray of light that came to me was 
after a long period, when I was offered my liberty 
if I would take arms in the wars of France. They 
had failed in their charges against me, and took 
this way to clear themselves. Of course I accepted 
the offer, and eventually found myself serving 
under Baron Dieskau in his campaign into this 
country. 

“ Some of you may know that I participated in 
the unfortunate battle waged above here, and that 
I was taken a prisoner. It seemed again as if fate 
was determined to do her worst with me, for I was 
sent with others a prisoner of war to England. 


2yO WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

Again followed long and vexatious delays, until it 
is only now that I am at last able to find myself 
restored to the scenes that I love so well, and you, 
my dear daughter, who have never been out of mind 
in all these long, anxious years.” 

“ Poor father ! How you have suffered. But it 
is over at last, and we will think only of the happi- 
ness in store for us.” 

“ Well said, my child, and a hearty amen to it 
all. What a beautiful day, and where can one find 
such scenery as this ? ” 

The bright cheer of the reunited father and 
daughter served to make light-hearted their com- 
panions, and with these sweet influences entering 
their lives, hallowed by the soft delicacy of the sum- 
mer atmosphere and the peacefulness of the water 
and the forest surrounding them, they moved si- 
lently down the silvery pathway. The islands grew 
more plentiful and their outlines softer and more 
restful, until they seemed hopelessly encompassed 
in their bewildering maze. Then there was a con- 
scious narrowing of the waterway, as if the flood 
was gathering its forces for a united effort in a 
race for a broader life. Finally Lieutenant Berne 
said in a low tone, as if fearful he should startle 
the inhabitants of the solitude: 

“ It must have been near this place that I saw 
him.” 


REUNITED LIVES 


2?t 

The prow of the boat was headed toward the 
bank, and no sooner had its keel grated on the 
white sand than Alex leaped out upon the land. 
Trembling so she could scarcely stand, his mother 
rose to follow her son. He gently assisted her to 
step ashore, and seeing how deeply she was agitated 
he whispered : 

“ Be calm, mother ! Lean upon His strong arm 
and you shall find strength for your feet.” 

“ My son — my son — ” she began, but did not 
finish her thought. He understood and slowly led 
her away from the shore, but in a direction which 
he knew would take them nearer the waterfall men- 
tioned by Lieutenant Berne. As if they appreciated 
the sacred import of the scene to follow, the others 
remained behind, the boatmen to look after their 
craft and speak in subdued tones of bygone days, 
the father and daughter to whisper sweet words of 
consolation and happiness. 

“What if he is not there ?” this gentle, pale- 
faced woman, with the sorrow of years upon her 
life sweetened by the noble influences of other lives, 
kept saying to herself. 

In silence Alex led his mother along the forest 
path overhung with the sweet-scented boughs of 
the smaller growth fringing the stream whose bank 
they were following. 

“ Hark, mother ! I hear the sound of tumbling 


27 2 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

waters. Ha! There is his camp. What a beau- 
tiful spot for one to pitch his tent.” 

She saw through the mist that had come into 
her vision a rude camp, and the embers of a fire 
that had been left to burn out, as if the builder 
had no further use for it. 

“He is gone!” she said. “We are too late.” 

“ Here are fresh footsteps leading down to the 
water,” he replied. “ And see ! There he stands 
by the water’s edge. He has seen us. He trembles 
— he is moving away! Go to him, mother. It 
will be better if I go back to the others.” 

His tall form outlined with marked clearness in 
the untainted atmosphere of the primeval retreat, 
the Woodranger turned abruptly around to look 
upon those who had dared to intrude into his do- 
main. The frosts of time had added a few pencilled 
lines to his long, dark hair and beard, but the coun- 
tenance was as hale and hearty as when last we 
saw him at Sabbath Day Point upon that fateful 
March morning when he was with Rogers’ Rangers 
in the disastrous fight which cost them so dear. 

Seeing that one at least of those who had in- 
vaded his sanctuary was a woman, he stood like a 
frightened deer not knowing whether to flee or 
stand his ground. The heavy stock of his firearm 
dropped to the earth, as if the weapon was of no 
further use to him, and he crossed his arms upon 


REUNITED LIVES 


2; 3 


its muzzle, while his lips moved as if they would 
fain yield the pent-up feelings bound by the rigid 
cords of silence. 

She gazed upon him in speechless joy for a mo- 
ment, and then the womanly heart in her cried out : 

“ Oh, Alick ! Found at last ! ” 

“ Mary ! ” came slowly, softly from his lips, as 
if he feared to< dispel the sweet illusion by the utter- 
ance of that dear name. 

“ Ye ne’er came to me, Alick, so I’ve come to ye.” 
Then more slowly she added : “ Canna ye ne’er 
forgi’ me ? ” 

For once “ Old Danger ” was forgotten, and un- 
able to stand alone, it fell to the ground, where it 
lay unnoticed. Slowly the long arms of the Wood- 
ranger were outstretched in mute appeal to her. 
With a low cry of gladness she rushed forward, 
and a moment later she rested in his protective em- 
brace. 

So long and quiet did they remain standing there 
that the creatures of the wildwood, which had been 
frightened into silence themselves by this intru- 
sion, overcame their fears and gave expression to 
their notes of freedom. The squirrel chattered 
noisily and whisked about in fantastic glee. The 
bird chirped his melodious song in a high key. The 
speckled trout, that may never have been stilled but 
for the alarm of his neighbours in fur and feather, 


274 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

darted hither and thither, leaving behind him a 
bright trail of light wherever he went. 

But silence is the forceful language of the deep- 
est emotions, and the beautiful dream of that meet- 
ing between the twain separated for more than 
thirty years could not have been expressed other- 
wise. She proved the more timid now of the two, 
or else it may have been she was more fearful that 
the whole scene might vanish at the first sound of 
a voice. 

“ Aweel, now’s me, the waiting has been over- 
long.” Then, starting suddenly backward, and 
holding her at arm’s length, he said impressively: 

“ Ay, forgive the ol’ man for his indiscretion 
and his weakness. Wha’ o’ him ? ” 

She understood and hastened to reply : 

“ Asleep with those who have gone before us, 
Alick. God knows I tried to be a true wife to him, 
without ever knowing the wrong I had done. They 
told me you were dead, and in my loneliness I be- 
lieved it.” 

“ Ne’er chide thyself, lass, for the simple part 
done unknowingly. Ignorance is innocence, and 
knowledge alone creates evil. I have been dead to 
the world these many years. Unfearing I come 
stumbling back to you, lass.” 

The joy upon her countenance kindled at the ut- 
terance of that word, which recalled so vividly an- 


REUNITED LIVES 275 

other scene and another meeting in the fair days of 
memory. 

“ Do you remember,” she asked, timidly, as if 
afraid he had forgotten, “ the evening we met by 
the bonnie burn of old Loch Karn, when you held 
my hand in yours and promised never to forget? 
It was some such a place as this, and some such a 
day.” 

“ I ne’er dissemble the truth, lass,” he said, rev- 
erently, and then, as if he would more fully complete 
the picture which had never vanished from his 
mind, he locked his arm in hers, and silently, slowly 
they descended side by side the rocky bank, until 
they stood under the gauze-like shield of the can- 
opied waters that rolled like an endless ribbon from 
a mighty spool forever turning. Through a rift 
in the forest made by the silvery stream the sun- 
light playing upon the spray tinted it with the hues 
of the rainbow, while the south wind lifted gently 
the silken folds. 

She slipped slightly upon the wet rock, and in 
trying to save her he caught her hand. With a 
thrill of pleasure he held it fast. And she forgot 
to claim it. Perhaps her mind was far away try- 
ing to solve the mystery of the river carrying its 
offering to the sea, always going and never return- 
ing. It was in reality much farther away — back 
to the days of her early womanhood, and her home 


276 WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 

by the brawling burn in native Scotland. What a 
leap even for memory ! 

“ Now’s me,” he began, but somehow the words 
fainted upon his tongue, and left him with the mem- 
ory of thirty years ago, when he, too, was young 
and had known the depth of a man’s love. They 
unconsciously drew nearer, to stand closely side by 
side upon a little rock-shelf overhanging the water 
and typical of their circumscribed lives. They had 
forgotten to admire the beauty of their surround- 
ings. Even he, with his sanguine, philosophical 
mind, became oblivious of all else save that he 
stood by her from whom he had been separated so 
long. Now they seemed a part of their surround- 
ings, of the rugged rocks, emblematical of their 
constancy of faith; the broken waters, of their 
severed and reunited hopes; the shifting spray, 
the rending wind, the sunbeams, each in their part 
making them feel that the elements of nature had 
combined to hold them fast in this love tryst. 

As they recognized each other more fully and 
felt the sweet bonds drawing them together, the 
capricious breeze caught in its invisible hands a 
fold of the shimmering water, and threw it around 
them like a bridal veil, while the benevolent sun 
showered down upon them its golden benediction. 
She, realizing the meaning of this more than he 
perhaps, laughed softly, the first expression of joy 


REUNITED LIVES 


2 77 


she had given since entering the glade. His hand 
clasped hers more tightly than ever, while he 
stooped and pressed upon her lips the seal of love, 
murmuring : 

“At last the cross is lifted! The joy is mine.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


THE WOODRANGER’S “ CROSS ” BITS OF BIOGRAPHY 

Though the artist has painted his picture, he 
loves to linger over his work. He has put the great- 
est effort of his life into this masterpiece, and yet 
for that very reason he turns away from it reluc- 
tantly, stopping to add a little colour to the sunset, 
softening the tints of the clouds floating dreamily 
over the sky, touching and retouching the painting 
until what had seemed perfection at first proves 
there is nothing perfect. The architect plans his 
building, and its structure goes on under his critical 
supervision, until the work is declared complete. 
Still he lingers to add some new thought to his 
dream of grace and elegance. So it is in every 
craft and calling. He who is sincere in his work 
is never willing to consider it finished. 

What is true of the others is none the less true 
of the story-teller, and while this simple tale has 
really been told past its crisis of interest, I would 
fain linger over its web. I would picture more 
clearly to your mind’s eye that, to' me, grandly beau- 
tiful life of him who has figured as the central char- 
278 


THE WOODR ANGER 'S “CROSS” 2? 9 

acter in this series of stories, Taconica the For- 
ester, Wiscowan the Wanderer, the Woodr anger — 
Alick MacDonald. 

His was a singular story of sacrifice and of silent 
suffering, proving the verity of the old adage that 
“ Truth is stranger than fiction.” There is no 
gainsaying the fact that the MacDonalds were a 
bold, honest, headstrong family, and like people of 
this trait were strong in their likes and dislikes, 
often going to extremes in their conduct. A care- 
ful reading of the accounts given by different ones 
connected with the troubles that fell upon certain 
members as told in the previous books of this series 
will afford a fair inkling of the truth . 1 The wrongs 
heaped upon Robert MacDonald, which overshad- 
owed his life, could not otherwise than have aroused 
all the deep-rooted passions of his nature, and em- 
bittered his whole life. These indignities were re- 
flected upon his son, Alick, who committed the 
grave mistake of trying to take personal vengeance 
upon their enemies. Happily he repented of this 
action before he had directly performed any wrong, 
but he was so complicated in a plot formed to 
check the flight of Parson MacGregor's flock while 
it was on its way to America that he was obliged 
to seek safety in the mountains of his native place. 

1 See “The Woodranger,” Chapter XIII.; “The Young Gun- 
bearer,” Chapter XVII.; « The Hero of the Hills,” Chapter VIII. 


280 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


There he was found by Archie McNiel, as described 
in “ The Woodranger,” when the two, both labour- 
ing under great excitement and misapprehension, 
fired shots which each believed killed the other. 
Then followed exile and concealment for both. 

To add to the burden of his sorrow, young Alick 
MacDonald learned that his wife had been induced 
to go to America, which was then the Mecca of 
many dreams dreamt by the oppressed people of the 
British Isles. Hither to New England he came, 
and soon found his father living at Namaske, but 
such complications had arisen concerning his own 
situation that he hesitated about making himself 
known for a time. He did go far enough to clear 
Archie McNiel of any unfortunate complicity in 
matters of which he did not care to speak. Believ- 
ing Mary, his wife, was dead, and that his daughter 
was well cared for and happy with her grandfather, 
he resolved to bear his burden in silence and un- 
known. Becoming known as the “ Woodranger,” 
he was enabled to remain near to those in whom 
he was interested without avowing his identity. 

Later, when he found that Mary, unconscious of 
any wrong-doing, was the wife of another, his loy- 
alty of silence became as fixed as the stern nature 
of a MacDonald could make it. She was now the 
happy helpmeet of a worthy man, and he was the 
last person on earth to enter the fold. Thus, year 


the woodrahger's “ cross 


281 


by year, he roamed the forests, bearing his cross 
with wonderful patience, and endearing himself to 
all who came to know him. He, in the last hours 
of his father, when the stern, embittered life was 
drawing to its close, confessed himself, and the latter 
was made happy by the knowledge. 

Now, after more than thirty years of silent wait- 
ing, he found her free to return to his kind protec- 
tion, and I am sure the reunion was the sweeter 
for the long separation borne with so much of meek- 
ness and resignation. It is pleasant to record that 
over their pure lives fell no further shadow. Still 
in middle life, for even he was not as old as he has 
often impressed us, living to a good old age, many 
years of contentment awaited them. 

Now and then the old spirit of restlessness, which 
had been too long developing to become wholly sub- 
dued, would o’ermaster his home-love, and again 
he shouldered “ Old Danger ” to roam the forest, 
communing in his simple faith with nature. Then, 
too, when the silence of New England’s first inde- 
pendence won by the fall of Ticonderoga was 
broken by the guns of Lexington, he was among 
the foremost to hasten to Bunker Hill. A few 
months later he was following Arnold in his memo- 
rable march through the wild white woods of Maine 
to the rock of Quebec; and, in due time, he was 
with his old comrade, Stark, at Bennington. Some 


2 82 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


of these adventures, sometime and somewhere, I 
hope to describe, but they do not belong here. So 
we bid him, kindly, reluctantly, a tender good-bye, 
while there comes softly to us his own parting 
words to Alex Briant and his fair bride: 

“ Aweel, now’s me, life has many paths winding 
hither and yon, and the truest o’ these is the un- 
signed trail o’ love, whither I follow like a child.” 

Of the other characters who have figured some- 
what prominently in these “ Woodranger Tales” 
some may care to know a little of their following 
careers. To these I would say briefly that Major 
Robert Rogers, to whom belongs a larger meed of 
praise than the historians of those days have seen 
fit to credit him for the success of the English arms 
in the Seven Years War, which culminated in a 
period of peace for the English colonies, performed 
the closing act by receiving the sword of the French 
commander in the West, then the territory about 
the Great Lakes, soon after the capture of Quebec. 
Soon after the close of the war he went to England, 
where he was received with special honours, and 
he devoted considerable of his time to writing of 
his personal adventures and accounts of the situ- 
ation in America. At the breaking out of the Revo- 
lution, from his recent associations with the Eng- 
lish, Washington mistrusted his fidelity to the cause 
of the colonists, and offended by his treatment he 


THE WOOD RANGER 'S “CROSS” 283 

joined the British army, though he did no great 
amount of fighting against those with whom he had 
been in comradeship years before. His fame eclipsed 
by these mistakes, which were not wholly his own, 
he died in England an exile from those he had 
known and loved in his younger years. 

William Stark, the beau-ideal of a Ranger, led a 
company of the New England men under Wolfe 
to the height of Quebec upon that memorable Sep- 
tember morning when Montcalm was surprised by 
the audacious English commander and his forces 
put to rout by that charge upon the Plains of Abra- 
ham which changed the fate of New France. Cap- 
tain Stark fought at the head of his gallant follow- 
ers close by Wolfe, and he was one of the four to 
bear him from the battle-field after he had received 
his death-wound. At the close of the war he re- 
turned to his home full of honours, to take up again 
the peaceful pursuits of a farm life, until the break- 
ing out of the Revolution, which again called him 
to arms. Like Rogers he was driven to espouse 
a cause in which he did not believe, to fall early in 
the war. 

I wish I could tell you more than I can of the life 
of his boon companion on many a hunt and war- 
trail, Sergeant Beau de Bien, for I must confess 
I have a strong admiration for the faithful fellow. 
He was a prime favourite with all of the Rangers, 


284 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


and the importance with which his services were 
considered is shown by the fact that his master drew 
for him the rations and pay allowed the men. He 
lived to a ripe old age, and though he was never 
heard to boast of his deeds, he was always looked 
upon as a hero. 

The history of John Stark is too well known to be 
repeated here. Like his brother William, he showed 
that a good soldier could be a useful citizen in times 
of peace. Then, when the alarm spread through 
Northern New England that the enemy were again 
threatening them by the way of the “ Grand Pass,” 
he girded on his sword, and at the head of the brave 
men of the Merrimack Valley, many of whom had 
followed him in the days of Rogers’ Rangers, he 
stemmed the tide of invasion upon the field of Ben- 
nington. He also did good service at Trenton and 
elsewhere. The war over, he returned to his home 
at Namaske, where he lived honoured and respected 
for many years. 

Philip, the friendly Sokokis, ever maintained a 
warm regard for the Starks, and he supplemented 
his faithful service in the war which decided the 
fate of his race in New England by serving through- 
out the Revolution as a soldier and scout under the 
cause of liberty. The war over, though he con- 
tinued to make his home in the north, he made it a 
regular practice to visit once a year the English 


THE WOODR ANGER *S “ CROSS ” 285 

town upon the intervales of the Saco River, which 
had sprung- up near the site of the Indian encamp- 
ment where his father once ruled as chieftain of his 
race. 

Ben Browne served through the war with credit 
to himself, accompanying William Stark upon the 
Quebec expedition, and when the struggle was over 
he returned to his home, where he lived many years 
in peace and contentedness. It was from stories 
that he told to his children, and which were handed 
down in the family as memories of those trying 
days, that I have gleaned many of the incidents 
connected with this tale of his services with Rogers’ 
Rangers. 

Alex Briant, with his good wife, who was once 
known as the Princess of the Horican, made them 
a home in the valley of the Hudson, where their 
descendants live to-day. Lieutenant Berne lived 
with his daughter, and though he had begun to feel 
the infirmities of his years, he served as an officer 
in the Revolution, doing efficient work and winning 
for himself the distinction of “ the white horse colo- 
nel ” in the Battle of Saratoga. 

The years that have flown since those stirring 
days have brought many changes to the “ Grand 
Pass.” Where Rogers’ Rangers went upon their 
perilous scouts peaceful hillsides yield their prod- 
ucts of nature, and where the marching columns 


286 


WITH ROGERS' RANGERS 


of armies moved, the summer tourists follow a broad 
highway to modern castles of sightseekers. Where 
the English camped and the French bivouacked, are 
now the sites of thrifty towns, and their battle- 
fields are now pleasure-grounds. Where fleets of 
hostile powers ploughed their course through crys- 
tal-like waters, stately steamers of pleasure-travel 
glide majestically up and down the “ Grand Pass.” 
Forts William Henry and Ticonderoga are possibly 
as invulnerable in their ruins as they proved in their 
zenith of glory, for neither met the expectations 
of their builders. To-day they are picturesque spots 
where the historian and antiquarian love to linger, 
living over in imagination olden times. The noble 
pine that stood like a sentinel at the Lookout for 
centuries, looking calmly down upon the warring 
races, sleeps in its rocky grave, while the ruined 
heap, overgrown with vines and moss-carpeted, that 
once formed the lonely dwelling of the outlawed 
French nobleman and his family, is looked upon 
by the stranger as the remains of some fortification 
in the days of the French and Indian wars. 


THE END. 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS 

(Trade Mark) 

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

Each, i vol. large, i2mo, cloth decorative, per vol. . $1.50 

The Little Colonel Stories. 

(Trade Mark) 

Illustrated. 

Being three “ Little Colonel ” stories in the Cosy Corner 
Series, “ The Little Colonel,” “ Two Little Knights of Ken- 
tucky,” and “ The Giant Scissors,” put into a single volume. 

The Little Colonel’s House Party. 

(Trade Mark) 

Illustrated by Louis Meynell. 

The Little Colonel’s Holidays. 

(Trade Mark) 

Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. 

The Little Colonel’s Hero. 

(Trade Mark) 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

The Little Colonel at Boarding School. 

(Trade Mark) 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

The Little Colonel in Arizona. 

(Trade Mark) 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

The Little Colonel’s Christmas Vaca= 

(Trade Mark) 

tion. 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

The Little Colonel, Maid of Honour. 

(Trade Mark) 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

Since the time of “ Little Women,” no juvenile heroine 
has been better beloved of her child readers than Mrs. 
Johnston’s “ Little Colonel.” 

D— 1 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Little Colonel. 

(Trade-Mark) 

Two Little Knights of Kentucky. 
The Giant Scissors. 

A Special Holiday Edition of Mrs. Johnston’s most 
famous books. 

Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25 
New plates, handsomely illustrated, with eight full-page 
drawings in color. 

“ There are no brighter or better stories for boys and girls than 
these .” — Chicago Record-Herald. 

“ The books are as satisfactory to the small girls, who find 
them adorable, as for the mothers and librarians, who delight in 
their influence .” — Christian Register. 

These three volumes, boxed as a three-volume set to com- 
plete the library editions of The Little Colonel books, $3 .75. 

In the Desert of Waiting: The Legend of 
Camelback Mountain. 

The Three Weavers : A Fairy Tale for 
Fathers and Mothers as Well as for Their 
Daughters. 

Keeping Tryst. 

Each one volume, tall i6mo, cloth decorative . $0.50 

Paper boards 35 

There has been a constant demand for publication in 
separate form of these three stories, which were originally 
included in three of the “ Little Colonel ” books, and the 
present editions, which are very charmingly gotten up, will 
be delightful and valued gift-books for both old and young. 

Joel : A Boy of Galilee. By Annie Fellows 
Johnston. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. 

New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel 
Books, 1 vol., large i2mo, cloth decorative . $1.50 

A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author’s 
best-known books, and which has been translated into many 
languages, the last being Italian. 

D — ft 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-roads, a 

sketch of Country Life and Country Humor. By Annie 

Fellows Johnston. With a frontispiece by Ernest 

Fosbery. 

Large i6mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00 

‘“Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads’ is the most delight- 
ful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been pub- 
lished in a long while. The lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, 
the descriptions of persons and things, are wonderfully true to 
nature.” — Boston Times. 

The Rival Campers 1 or, The Adventures 
of Henry Burns. By Ruel P. Smith. 

Square i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by A. B. 
Shute $1.50 

Here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy 
reader. It is the story of a party of typical American lads, 
courageous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camp- 
ing on an island off the Maine coast. 

“ The best boys’ book since ‘ Tom Sawyer.’ ” — San Francisco 
Examiner. 

“ Henry Burns, the hero, is the ‘ Tom Brown ’ of America.” — 
N. V. Sun. 

The Rival Campers Afloat; or, the prize 

Yacht Viking. By Ruel P. Smith, author of “ The 

Rival Campers.” 

Square i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50 

This book is a continuation of the adventures of “ The 
Rival Campers” on their prize yacht Viking. Every 
reader will be enthusiastic over the adventures of Henry 
Burns and his friends on their sailing trip. They have a 
splendid time, fishing, racing, and sailing, until an acci- 
dental collision results in a series of exciting adventures, 
culminating in a mysterious chase, the loss of their prize 
yacht, and its recapture by means of their old yacht, Sur- 
prise , which they raise from its watery grave. 

D — 3 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY’S 


The Young Section=hand ; or, the ad- 
ventures of Allan West. By Burton E. Steven- 
son, author of “ The Marathon Mystery,” etc. 
i2mo, cloth, illustrated by L. J. Bridgman . . $1.50 

Mr. Stevenson’s hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is 
given a chance as a section-hand on a big Western rail- 
road, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrill- 
ing. 

“It appeals to every boy of enterprising spirit, and at the 
same time teaches him some valuable lessons in honor, pluck, 
and perseverance.” — Cleveland Plain Dealer. 

The Young Train Despatcher. By bur- 

ton E. Stevenson, author of “ The Young Section- 
hand,” etc. 

Square i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1,50 

A new volume in the “ Railroad Series,” in which the 
young section-hand is promoted to a train despatcher. 
Another branch of railroading is presented, in which the 
young hero has many chances to prove his manliness and 
courage in the exciting adventures which befall him in the 
discharge of his duty. 


Jack Lorimer. By Winn standish. 

Square i2mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by A. B. 

Shute $1.50 

Jack Lorimer, whose adventures have for some time 
been one of the leading features of the Boston Sunday 
Herald , is the popular favorite of fiction with the boys and 
girls of New England, and, now that Mr. Standish has 
made him the hero of his book, he will soon be a favorite 
throughout the country. 

Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high- 
school boy. He has the sturdy qualities boys admire, and 
his fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike 
a chord of sympathy among athletic youths. 

D-4 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


The Roses of Saint Elizabeth. By Jane 

Scott Woodruff, author of “The Little Christmas 

Shoe.” 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated 
in color by Adelaide Everhart . . . . $1.00 

This is a charming little story of a child whose father 
was caretaker of the great castle of the Wartburg, where 
Saint Elizabeth once had her home, with a fairy-tale inter- 
woven, in which the roses and the ivy in the castle yard 
tell to the child and her playmate quaint old legends of the 
saint and the castle. 

Gabriel and the Hour Book. By Evaleen 

Stein. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated 
in colors by Adelaide Everhart . . . $1.00 

Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who as- 
sisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books 
were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. 
It is a dear little story, and will appeal to every child 
who is fortunate enough to read it. 

The Enchanted Automobile. Translated 

from the French by Mary J. S afford. 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated 
in colors by Edna M. Sawyer . . . $1.00 

The enchanted automobile was sent by the fairy god- 
mother of a lazy, discontented little prince and princess to 
take them to fairyland, where they might visit their old 
story-book favorites. 

Here the find that Sleeping Beauty has become a fa- 
mously busy queen ; Princess Charming keeps a jewelry shop; 
where she sells the jewels that drop from her lips ; Hop-o’- 
My-Thumb is a farmer, too busy even to see the children, 
and Little Red Riding Hood has trained the wolf into a 
trick animal, who performs in the city squares. 

They learn the lesson that happy people are the busy 
people, and they return home cured of their discontent and 
laziness. 


D — 5 


Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 


Beautiful Joe’s Paradise; or, the island 

of Brotherly Love. A sequel to “ Beautiful Joe.” 
By Marshall Saunders, author of “ Beautiful Joe,” 
‘‘For His Country,” etc. With fifteen full-page plates 
and many decorations from drawings by Charles Liv- 
ingston Bull. 

One vol., library i2mo, cloth decorative . . $1.50 

“ Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who read 
it.” — Pittsburg Gazette. 

“ Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness 
into her story. The book deserves to be a favorite.” — Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

“This book revives the spirit of ‘Beautiful Joe’ capitally. 
It is fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual as 
anything in the animal book line that has seen the light. It is a 
book for juveniles — old and young.” — Philadelphia Item. 

’Tilda Jane. By Marshall Saunders, author of 
“ Beautiful Joe,” etc. 

One vol., i2mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover, 

$1.50 

“ No more amusing and attractive child’s story has appeared 
for a long time than this quaint and curious recital of the adven- 
tures of that pitiful and charming little runaway. 

“ It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that 
win and charm the reader, and I did not put it down until I 
had finished it — honest 1 And I am sure that every one, young 
or old, who reads will be proud and happy to make the acquaint- 
ance of the delicious waif. 

“ I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I 
commend it unreservedly.” — Cyrus Townsend Brady. 

The Story of the Graveleys. By Mar- 
shall Saunders, author of “ Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,” 
“ ’Tilda Jane,” etc. 

Library 12 mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B. 
Barry $1.50 

Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, 
of a delightful New England family, of whose devotion and 
sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. From the kindly, 
serene-souled grandmother to the buoyant madcap, Berty, these 
Graveleys are folk of fibre and blood — genuine human beings. 
D-6 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


PHYLLIS' FIELD FRIENDS SERIES 

By LENORE E. MULETS 

Six vols., cloth decorative, illustrated by Sophie Schneider. 
Sold separately, or as a set. 


Per volume . . $1.00 

Per set . 6.00 


Insect Stories. 

Stories of Little Animals. 

Flower Stories. 

Bird Stories. 

Tree Stories. 

Stories of Little Fishes, 

In this series of six little Nature books, it is the author’s in- 
tention so to present to the child reader the facts about each 
particular flower, insect, bird, or animal, in story form, as to 
make delightful reading. Classical legends, myths, poems, and 
songs are so introduced as to correlate fully with these lessons, 
to which the excellent illustrations are no little help. 

THE WOODRANGER TALES 

By G. WALDO BROWNE 

The Woodranger. 

The Young Gunbearer. 

The Hero of the Hills. 

With Rogers’ Rangers. 

Each i vol., large 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover, illustrated, 
per volume ........ $1.00 

Four vols., boxed, per set 4.00 

“The Woodranger Tales,” like the “Pathfinder Tales” of J. 
Fenimore Cooper, combine historical information relating to 
early pioneer days in America with interesting adventures in 
the backwoods. Although the same characters are continued 
throughout the series, each book is complete in itself, and, while 
based strictly on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting 
tale of adventure. 

D — 7 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 


Born to the Blue. By Florence Kimball 
Russel. 

i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.25 

The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on 
every page of this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a 
captain of U. S. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the 
days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation. 

The author is herself “ of the army,” and knows every 
detail of the life. Her descriptions are accurate, which 
adds to the value and interest of the book. 

Pussy=Cat Town. By Marion Ames Taggart. 
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated 
in colors ........ $1.00 

“ Pussy-Cat Town ” is a most unusual, delightful cat story. 
Ban-Ban, a pure Maltese who belonged to Rob, Kiku-san, 
Lois’s beautiful snow-white pet, and their neighbors Bedelia 
the tortoise-shell, Madame Laura the widow, Wutz Butz 
the warrior, and wise old Tommy Traddles, were really and 
truly cats, and Miss Taggart has here explained the reason 
for their mysterious disappearance all one long summer. 

The Sandman : His Farm Stories. By Will- 
iam J. Hopktns. With fifty illustrations by Ada Clen- 
denin Williamson. 

Large i2mo, decorative cover . . . . $1.50 

“ An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very 
small children. It should be one of the most popular of the 
year’s books for reading to small children.” — Buffalo Express. 

“ Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the 
little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this 
book a treasure.” — Cleveland Leader. 

The Sandman : More Farm Stories. By Will- 
iam J. Hopkins. 

Large i2mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated . $1.50 

Mr. Hopkins’s first essay at bedtime stories has met 
with such approval that this second book of “ Sandman ” 
tales has been issued for scores of eager children. Life on 
the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable 
manner, and many a little one will hail the bedtime season 
as one of delight. 

D— 8 


THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES 

The most delightful and interesting accounts possible of 
child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, 
and adventures. 

Each i vol., i2mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or 
more full-page illustrations in color. 

Price per volume $0.60 

By MARY HAZELTON WADE ( unless otherwise 


Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Brown Cousin 

Our Little Canadian Cousin 

By Elizabeth R. Macdonald 

Our Little Chinese Cousin 

By Isaac Taylor Headland 

Our Little Cuban Cousin 

Our Little Dutch Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little English Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Eskimo Cousin 

Our Little French Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little German Cousin 

Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 

Our Little Indian Cousin 

Our Little Irish Cousin 

Our Little Italian Cousin 
D— 9 


Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 

Our Little Korean Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 

Our Little Mexican Cousin 

By Edward C. Butler 

Our Little Norwegian Cousin 

Our Little Panama Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 

Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 

Our Little Scotch Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little Siamese Cousin 

Our Little Spanish Cousin 

By Mary F. Nixon - Roulet 

Our Little Swedish Cousin 

By Claire M. Coburn 

Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 


THE GOLDENROD LIBRARY 


The Goldenrod Library contains only the highest and 
purest literature, — stories which appeal alike both to chil- 
dren and to their parents and guardians. 

Each volume is well illustrated from drawings by com- 
petent artists, which, together with their handsomely deco- 
rated uniform binding, showing the goldenrod, usually 
considered the emblem of America, is a feature of their 
manufacture. 

Each one volume, small i2mo, illustrated, dec- 
orated cover, paper wrapper . . . #0.3 5 

LIST OF TITLES 

Aunt Nabby’s Children. By Frances Hodges White. 
Child’s Dream of a Star, The. By Charles Dickens. 
Flight of Rosy Dawn, The. By Pauline Bradford Mackie. 
Findelkind. By Ouida. 

Fairy of the Rhone, The. By A. Comyns Carr. 

Gatty and I. By Frances E. Crompton. 

Great Emergency, A. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 

Helena’s Wonderworld. By Frances Hodges White. 
Jackanapes. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 

Jerry’s Reward. By Evelyn Snead Barnett. 

La Belle Nivernaise. By Alphonse Daudet. 

Little King Davie. By Nellie Hellis. 

Little Peterkin Vandike. By Charles Stuart Pratt. 

Little Professor, The. By Ida Horton Cash. 

Peggy’s Trial. By Mary Knight Potter. 

Prince Yellowtop. By Kate Whiting Patch. 

Provence Rose, A. By Ouida. 

Rab and His Friends. By Dr. John Brown. 

Seventh Daughter, A. By Grace Wickham Curran. 
Sleeping Beauty, The. By Martha Baker Dunn. 

Small, Small Child, A. By E. Livingston Prescott. 

Story of a Short Life, The. By Juliana Horatia Ewing. 
Susanne. By Frances J. Delano. 

Water People, The. By Charles Lee Sleight. 

Young Archer, The. By Charles E. Brimblecom. 

D— 10 


COSY CORNER SERIES 

It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall 
contain only the very highest and purest literature, — 
stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- 
selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with 
them in their joys and sorrows. 

The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known 
artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover 
design. 

Each i vol., i6mo, cloth $0.50 

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

The Little Colonel. (Trade Mark.) 

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine 
is a small girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, on 
account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school 
Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are 
famous in the region. 

The Giant Scissors. 

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in 
France. Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel, and 
in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences 
of the “ House Party ” and the “ Holidays.” 

Two Little Knights of Kentucky. 

Who Were the Little Colonel’s Neighbors. 

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old 
friend, but with added grace and charm. She is not, how- 
ever, the central figure of the story, that place being taken 
by the “ two little knights.” 

Mildred’s Inheritance. 

A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who 
comes to America and is befriended by a sympathetic 
American family who are attracted by her beautiful speak- 
ing voice. By means of this one gift she is enabled to 
help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her 
eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one. 
D— 11 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON ( Continued ) 

Cicely and Other Stories for Girls. 

The readers of Mrs. Johnston’s charming juveniles will 
be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young 
people. 

Aunt ’Liza’s Hero and Other Stories. 

A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal 
to all boys and most girls. 

Big Brother. 

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven, 
himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of 
the simple tale. 

Ole Mammy’s Torment. 

“ Ole Mammy’s Torment” has been fitly called “ a classic 
of Southern life.” It relates the haps and mishaps of a 
small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kind- 
ness to a knowledge of the right. 

The Story of Dago. 

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a 
pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells 
his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is 
both interesting and amusing. 

The Quilt That Jack Built. 

A pleasant little story of a boy’s labor of love, and how 
it changed the course of his life many years after it was 
accomplished. 

Flip’s Islands of Providence. 

A story of a boy’s life battle, his early defeat, and his 
final triumph, well worth the reading. 

D — IS 


COSY CORNER SERIES 


By EDITH ROBINSON 

A Little Puritan’s First Christmas. 

A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christ- 
mas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the 
Puritans, aided by her brother Sam. 

A Little Daughter of Liberty. 

The author’s motive for this story is well indicated by a 
quotation from her introduction, as follows : 

“ One ride is memorable in the early history of the 
American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul Revere. 
Equally deserving of commendation is another ride, — the 
ride of Anthony Severn, — which was no less historic in its 
action or memorable in its consequences.” 

A Loyal Little Maid. 

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, 
in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders im- 
portant services to George Washington. 

A Little Puritan Rebel. 

This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time 
when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massa- 
chusetts. 

A Little Puritan Pioneer. 

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement at 
Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds another to the 
list of favorites so well known to the young people. 

A Little Puritan Bound Girl. 

A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great 
interest to youthful readers. 

A Little Puritan Cavalier. 

The story of a “ Little Puritan Cavalier ” who tried with 
all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of 
the dead Crusaders. 

B — IS 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


By OUIDA (. Louise de la Ramie) 

A Dog Of Flanders : A Christmas Story. 

Too well and favorably known to require description. 

The Nurnberg Stove. 

This beautiful story has never before been published at 
a popular price. 

By FRANCES MARGARET FOX 

The Little Giant’s Neighbours. 

A charming nature story of a “ little giant ” whose neigh- 
bours were the creatures of the field and garden. 

Farmer Brown and the Birds. 

A little story which teaches children that the birds are 
man’s best friends. 

Betty of Old Mackinaw. 

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the 
little readers who like stories of “real people.” 

Brother Billy. 

The story of Betty’s brother, and some further adven- 
tures of Betty herself. 

Mother Nature’s Little Ones. 

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or 
“ childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors. 

How Christmas Came to the Mul= 
vaneys. 

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, 
with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. The 
wonderful never-to-be forgotten Christmas that came to 
them is the climax of a series of exciting incidents. 

D— 14 


























































































. 


\ 






•• 








- 




' 








































































































































» 












































































































































HAY 7 19DS 





B; 1 





. 



























